No One Said Flying Was Easy
by Wrtrmd2
Summary: Eight year old Richard Grayson has just watched his parents fall to their deaths. Hurting and alone, he struggles to adjust to the new life he's thrown into. Bruce Wayne takes him in, but seems to have no idea what he's doing. Can they help each other put the pieces of their broken lives back together?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, I've seen a lot of announcements like this, but I guess I should say it. This is the first story I've ever written about a character that wasn't my own. At the risk of sounding like a fan-girl, I have always loved Dick Grayson as Robin (I don't really know much about him as Nightwing). Anyway, I've been reading a bunch of stories about him on fanfiction and I thought… what the heck? So here it is. Also, I couldn't find a Romani translator. The closest I could get was Romanian.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

No One Said Flying was Easy

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Two hours. That's how long it took for him to stop crying. He would have cried longer, he was sure, but he'd run out of tears. Now there was nothing he could do but stare at the ground with puffy red eyes, and cling to his colorful stuffed elephant.

He had been sitting on the single step of their small trailer for what felt like an eternity, waiting for something to happen. The temperature had been dropping steadily for the past thirty minutes. He couldn't feel his fingers or his nose anymore. His legs were starting to fall asleep. His stomach felt hollow. His eyes were still stinging. But he didn't register any of it. He just felt numb, and he knew it didn't have anything to do with the cold night air.

He had just watched his parents fall.

A part of him knew they were dead. That part kept playing their screams over and over again in his head… like it was on a loop. His name. That's what they had screamed on the way down; reaching out as though to touch him one last time.

Another part of him refused to accept it. That part imagined them running back to the trailer, pushing past doctors and policemen that would try to stop them for their own good. Finding him sitting alone in the cold. Wrapping him up in their strong warm arms. Promising everything would be alright in the morning because they'd be right there. Then they would probably scold the social worker for making him sit out there for so long without at least a jacket.

The social worker. He raised his head slightly to see her standing a few feet to his left talking with Pop Haley. She had arrived about an hour after it had happened. She tried to talk to him, but he hadn't heard a word she said. He hadn't answered any of her questions. Hadn't said one word. Which proved in his mind that they really were dead.

His parents teased him often about being a chatterbox. They were always telling him stories about how he would babble away at anyone he saw before he'd even learned his first word. They told him they had been worried that he would walk up to a random stranger one day and they'd never see him again. But they found out soon enough that they didn't have to worry about that. He had an almost unnatural sense of judging a person's character.

According to his parents, when he was eight months old a woman had joined the circus as one of the clowns. Anytime she was around he would get quiet and bury his head into whoever was holding him. No one understood why; she seemed nice enough. But one day, while they were setting up at the fairgrounds, something had upset the elephant. His parents had quickly handed him to the nearest person and hurried to help. They hadn't gone three feet when he started screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. When they turned they saw him thrashing around in the woman's arms, trying to get away. And then her jacket had torn. Apparently she had been stealing from the other performers. Small things that everyone thought they'd lost. She'd been pawning them for money and nobody had had a clue. But he had somehow known there was something wrong with her.

Of course, as soon as his father had told him the story he had taken to following circus goers around until it was time for the show. It had amused everyone in Pop Haley's crew to watch him running around studying everyone one he came across. If he decided they were good he would give them a bright smile and talk to them animatedly, even though he suspected none of them knew Romani. Then he would skip away leaving them looking confused. When he came across a suspicious person he would give them a disappointed frown and innocently tell them that they would be much happier in life if they did good things for others. None of them understood either, but it probably wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway.

He stared at the social worker as she continued to argue with Pop Haley. He couldn't remember what she'd said her name was. Even if he had been paying attention he wouldn't have been able to understand half of what she said. His English was getting better. He had been working hard to use it when he could, and his mother was always there to help him when he struggled with a word. At least… she had been.

He tried to focus on the words as his eyes stung again. He was really too exhausted and dehydrated to cry any more. His parents deserved the tears. But he couldn't give them. His parents deserved to be alive. But unless this was some horrible nightmare, that wasn't going to happen either.

Pop Haley's voice had risen over the past few minutes. Pop was waving his arms in exaggerated motions trying to make a point. The social worker just shook her head. He couldn't hear the whole conversation; just bits and random words. He heard his name a lot. 'Richard' when the lady said it, 'Dick' from Pop Haley. He also heard 'family', 'filthy', 'dead', 'child', and 'home'. But he didn't think they were trying to say that 'the filthy dead child needs a family home' so he still felt lost.

Finally they stopped talking. The argument was over. And studying there expressions, he didn't think Pop Haley had won. Pop looked angry, sad, defeated, and nervous all at once. The lady just looked smug. He decided she wasn't a good person.

Pop Haley narrowed his eyes at her and walked over to where he sat, shivering on the step. Pop kneeled in front of him, put a hand on his shoulder, and every expression but the sadness left his face. "Dick," Pop spoke softly, "Am sint astfel incat imi pare rau." (I am so sorry)

Pop Haley paused, but he just stared. He couldn't speak. There was nothing he could say without his voice cracking. He knew. He had tried.

Pop Haley sighed and glanced back at the woman. "Dick, I know-" Pop caught himself speaking English. He could understand that much just fine, but Pop switched back to his native language. "Am stiu tu sunt doare. Va rog Cred ca mine, am incercat…" (I know you are hurting. Please believe me, I tried…) He frowned and tilted his head in confusion. What had Pop Haley tried to do? And why was Pop so upset about it?

Pop Haley looked down and closed his eyes for a moment before looking up into the eyes of the boy he considered a grandson. Brilliant blue eyes haunted by what they'd seen such a short time ago stared back. They were asking questions that no one had answers for. What happened? How is it possible that they were smiling and laughing one minute, and gone the next with the snap of a rope? Why? Why them? Why did they die?

It wasn't just them that died; Pop Haley knew. When they hit the ground a small, eight year old boy with messy raven hair and a smile that could light the dark side of the moon had died with them. A part of him at least; and he hoped that someday, though it would probably be a long way off, the boy would be able to find that part again.

He bit back a growl that would've been directed at the social worker. He didn't see how the boy could hope to find that part if… no _when_ he was about to be ripped away from the only family he'd ever known. Wasn't one enough to lose in a night? It seemed not.

A small hand released its grip on the stuffed elephant called Peanut and found its way to Pop Haley's chest. He stared at it for a moment, looked up, and knew the boy was waiting for him to fix things. He wished that he could. "Tu au pentru a du-te, fiul." (You have to go, son)

The boy blinked and looked without seeing at Pop Haley as he tried to explain. "Ei nu Cred ca tu ar trebui sa sederea in Acest lucru loc. Ei spun Acesta ar fi prea dureros pentru tu." (They don't think you should stay in this place. They say it would be too painful for you.)

He blinks again, multiple times as his eyes sting. Painful? It's already painful. How will taking him away from here change that? It won't bring his parents back. It will only take him from the only other people in the world that ever cared for him. The only life he's ever known. The social worker must hate him for not listening earlier… for not remembering her name. Why else would she be so determined to torture him like this?

He doesn't realize he's hugging Pop Haley until strong arms wrap him in their warmth. He doesn't realize he hadn't run out of tears until he feels them sliding down his face once again. He doesn't realize he won't get to say goodbye to the others until he opens his watery eyes and sees the social worker has somehow slipped past him and packed a small suitcase.

Pop Haley gently rubs a thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tears. "Vom fi acolo pentru lor inmormantare," (We'll be there for their funeral) Pop promises. He sniffs and nods numbly as he stands on shaky legs. He swallows the lump in his throat and clutches Peanut back to his chest. The only part of his family they haven't threatened to tear away. He's determined that he will not let this one go. He follows the lady to her car, she opens the door, and he stares at the waiting seat. He turns one last time to see Pop Haley standing alone in front of their cozy little trailer; now it's dark and cold and empty.

"La revedere," (Goodbye) is barely a whisper as it passes his lips. He climbs inside, shuts the door, the lady starts the car… and just like that he's gone.

Richard John Grayson, the _last _of the Grayson's, is flying alone now.

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Different than any style I've ever written in, but I have to say I'm pretty happy with it. I want to make this a continuing series. I don't really know where or how far I'm going with this, so fingers crossed I keep the motivation. Review if you want, but it's not a requirement… I write for fun. But if other people like it, that's cool too.


	2. Chapter 2: The Funeral

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Goodness! I can't tell you how surprised I was that I got _any _reviews the first night I posted (especially since the description sounds so cliche). To put it in the words of my sixth grade science teacher... cool beans. I just want to thank you guys for making my night. It's a good thing I was watching a comedy with my sister when I got them because I had the stupidest smile on my face... she would've thought I lost my mind if I'd been smiling like that for no apparent reason. Anyway, thanks again. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 2: The Funeral

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Dick spent two nights in the social worker's office, sleeping in an uncomfortable leather chair when he could. Overall he only got about five hours of sleep. Waking up confused and then realizing it had really happened… that he was alone… it was too hard. He would start crying every time, and that annoyed the social worker. So he just tried not to sleep.

On the third day, she told Dick to hurry and get ready so she could take him to the funeral. Apparently a man name Bruce Wayne had been at the circus that night. He had seen them fall and offered to pay for everything. He had even sent the social worker a suit for Dick to wear.

"We need to get going if we're going to leave in time," the social worker had muttered to herself. Dick still didn't know her name. He wondered where exactly they had to go after the funeral. He hoped she would take him back to the circus, but he wasn't going to hold his breath.

They went straight to the gravesite and Dick felt only slightly better when he saw all of his friends from the circus… except for the elephant, Zitka. They were standing around two polished coffins, wearing their best clothes and watching as he slowly walked to join them. Pop Haley put a hand on his shoulder and the service started.

It was in English so Pop Haley whispered interpretations for Dick. He didn't hear either the preacher or Pop Haley. All he heard was the ropes snapping and his parents calling his name as he stared at the flowers on the coffins.

He'd heard once that it always rained when someone you loved was buried. He couldn't remember where he'd heard it, but he figured it wasn't true. Because today, in Gotham a city that had a reputation for being dark and gloomy, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Everything he saw was bright and green, the flowers were too colorful, and a few birds peeked out from a line of trees whistling away.

What he'd heard hadn't been true. Because he loved his parents; more than anything in the world. And it wasn't raining. It seemed cruel to him, that he was standing right in front of them… so close and he couldn't see them. Couldn't touch them. Couldn't hear their laughter. And it hurt knowing he could never do those things again.

If no one had looked at him, they wouldn't have known he was crying. The tears were falling silently down his face and dripping from his chin to the soft green earth below. He didn't notice either.

And before he knew it, it was over. The preacher walked away and his family immediately moved to comfort him. They took turns hugging him and whispering to him, words he could understand. He briefly thought of the social worker waiting to take him away from these wonderful people and decided to actually listen to what they said. He didn't know if he'd ever hear their voices again.

Mostly they just said they were sorry and they wished he could stay. He just nodded and squeezed them tight because he felt the same way. Pop Haley was last and he actually lifted Dick off the ground to hug him.

"Veti fi bine, mic pasare," (You'll be alright, little bird) Pop assured him with his parent's pet name, "Tu sunt mai puternica decat oricine Am stiu." (You are stronger than anyone I know)

"Va multumesc," (Thank you) Dick managed in a choked whisper, "Bolnav dor tu." (I'll miss you)

The social worker cleared her throat and tapped her watch impatiently. Dick squeezed Pop Haley's neck so tightly he was probably choking him, but he didn't want to leave them. And he knew that Pop didn't want to let him go. But they both knew they had no choice. The social worker would just come tear him out of Pop's arms if she had to.

He sniffled, wiped his eyes, and gave them all a small smile… in case they never saw it again. Then he walked across the graveyard to climb into the backseat with Peanut and head toward his new home; wherever it may be.

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I know it was kind of short and disjointed, but there was only so much I could do with this scene. I'd imagine that anyone would have trouble thinking straight in this situation anyway. Hope you enjoyed it though.


	3. Chapter 3: Juvenile Hall

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

Okay, I am completely _over_whelmed by the number of favorites and followings this story has gotten. Thank you all so so much! This chapter is longer than the last one. Hope you like it.

Chapter 3: Juvenile Hall

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It had been over a month since the funeral. Dick had convinced himself in the two days following the incident that things would have to get better for him. He may have been leaving the circus, but surely the social worker had found a kind family with a working father, a stay-at-home mother, and maybe even a kid or two. People who could help him adjust to his changing lifestyle and help him deal with the loss of his parents. He realized that the social worker didn't give a hoot about his well-being but she had to find a good home for him at least. That was her job.

She should have been fired.

He had been in her office for two days and she'd only spent thirty minutes on the phone for his benefit. The rest of the time she was making personal calls or snoring on her couch. She'd basically had his future in her hands and she'd only given him thirty minutes of thought.

She had talked to him in the car after the funeral about what was going to happen to him. He tried to understand. After all, she was discussing his life. But there were too many words coming out of her mouth. Big words he'd never heard before. It was hard to follow. He had pieced together that he wasn't going to a foster home. The only sentence that had been clear to him was, "No one wants a circus brat." She'd given the impression that an orphanage wasn't an option either. So he'd wondered where they were going.

He wished he'd never found out.

If his parents had known he'd be thrown into a juvenile detention center when they died, they would have taken the time to make out a Will. They probably thought he'd just stay with the circus if anything happened to them. But it had happened so suddenly… no one was prepared for this.

Juvenile Hall was a living nightmare for Dick. Even though he was young he could see the injustice of being there. The worst thing he'd ever done was steal a few handfuls of popcorn or cotton candy before Showtime. Pop Haley didn't care about that… Dick had seen him do it a few times too. He was the most innocent person there and still he was treated like less than a common criminal.

Often, when he was alone, he found himself thinking about what Pop Haley had told him that night. 'They say it would be too painful for you'. He wondered if 'pain' had another meaning in English. Surely a cheerful circus environment surrounded by people who loved him and made sure he was safe and fed would be less painful than this place… sad memories or not. This place was like a monster in a pit, trying to tear every last happy thought from his mind.

Dick had always been small. People often mistook him for six rather than eight. But here he was like sapling in a forest of fully grown trees. Every kid locked up with him was at least three years older than him. They made fun of him constantly, knocked him over, stole most of his food. He had lost a lot of weight over the weeks, and he'd been skinny enough before.

The guard that watched his block wasn't much better. In fact, he was worse. He never really took a break so he was always grouchy. He made them go outside for an hour every day, regardless of the weather. And he always asked Dick stupid, pointless questions… and hit him if he didn't answer fast or loud enough. The first week Dick had been too depressed to talk to anyone and he couldn't understand half of what people said to him. After that he'd gotten sick because his cell was cold, drafty, and leaked when it rained. It always seemed to rain. His throat had been so sore he couldn't manage anything but whispers… definitely not loud enough for the guard.

After awhile Dick decided that no matter what he did he was going to be miserable. So he stopped talking all together and spent every minute he could sitting on his bed, back against the wall, and knees pulled up to his chest. He couldn't sleep much in this place. Nightmares and cold made him wake up sweating and shivering on the bed. He didn't even have Peanut to comfort him now. They had taken him away and locked him in storage somewhere.

Only one good thing had come out of being in Juvenile Hall. He had learned to understand English. True, there were a few words that still puzzled him; like 'dumplings' or 'gruel'… but since he heard them in the cafeteria he assumed they were the foods they served. But he knew more than enough to form a few sentences without struggling anymore. He noticed though, that a lot of people used the few English words his mother had told him to never repeat or he'd wind up with a mouthful of soap.

None of that really mattered though. All the English in the world wouldn't get him out of this place…

"Grayson!" The guard banged on the bars of his cell and he was startled out of his thoughts. "Get your butt over here and come with me."

Dick frowned in confusion. They had already gone outside for their hour of 'recreation' as they called it. He was still drying out from it. But he really didn't want to be hit again… he already had a painful bruise on his left cheek. So without a word he stood up and followed the guard down the hall to the 'Warden's' office.

As they walked, Dick could hear the guard mumbling to himself. Something like, "Good for nothin' brat. Don't know what anyone'd want with him… Specially someone like that." It did nothing to ease Dick's confusion.

Finally they stopped and the guard opened a door, pushed Dick roughly inside, and slammed it behind the boy. Two men turned at the sound. One of them had a pinched up kind of face with round glasses. He was frowning as though he'd just smelled something bad… maybe his cologne, Dick could smell it from across the room. It took all of his willpower not to wrinkle his nose and hide it in his uniform.

The other man was dressed in a nice, clean suit. He had short dark brown hair and blue eyes; though they were much darker than Dick's. His expression was neutral, but his eyes seemed to widen slightly as he took in Dick's appearance.

Dick frowned and tilted his head. He had seen this man somewhere before but he wasn't sure where. Dick narrowed his eyes, playing his studying game for the first time in five weeks. After a moment he had come to the conclusion that this man was trustworthy. He was muscular, obviously important, and a bit intimidating… but his eyes warm and concerned. Like Pop Haley's. Or his parents.

"Grayson," the 'Warden's' annoyed voice drew his attention away from the other man, "This is Mr. Bruce Wayne… he's here to take you to his home."

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Next chapter we have Dick going to Wayne Manor and meeting Alfred.


	4. Chapter 4: Contemplations

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

It's Saturday peoples, so I can write all day if I want and not worry about stupid 'office procedures'. Thanks for the reviews and favorites. In answer to a question in one: yes, I am posting a chapter a day. I've got seven written so far, and if I'm lucky I can get to at least ten today... hopefully. But I don't want to just post them all at once and be pressured to speed through a chapter. It would come out rushed and I probably wouldn't be happy with it. Anyway, here's chapter four. Enjoy! ;D

Chapter 4: Contemplations

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Dick kept his eyes firmly on the window as they drove through Gotham to Mr. Wayne's house. It was still pouring, like it had been all day, and the raindrops created hypnotizing streaks on the glass. He didn't know where exactly they were going or how long it would take for them to get there. He remembered that Bruce Wayne had paid for his parents' funeral, meaning he had to be wealthy. Dick imagined he lived in a fairly big house. Maybe he was married and had a family.

Dick could feel Mr. Wayne looking at him through the rearview mirror every time they came to a red light or a stop sign. He was nervous. He didn't know how to act around Dick. That was obvious. _So if he is married they don't have kids_, Dick decided.

In his time at the circus he had seen countless kids. Sometimes they got separated from their parents in the large crowds. Depressed or crying, if his father had come across one he would have them calmed in a second. Dick had once asked him how he did it. How did he know just what to say to cheer them up? 'It's a Dad thing,' he'd said as he ruffled Dick's hair, 'Keeping little birds happy is what we do best.'

Mr. Wayne had seemed so uncomfortable just opening the 'Warden's' door for Dick. As though he were afraid he would offend him in some way by doing so. Why would anyone find that offensive? _No_, Dick thought again as he carefully traced a line on the window with his finger, _He doesn't know anything about kids_.

He diverted his eyes to the man for a brief second to see if he at least had a wife. No wedding ring. Dick was truly puzzled now.

Why would Mr. Wayne want to take him in? A single man, with money, and no wife? Dick wasn't a genius, but he was pretty sure people didn't do things like this. Especially people from Gotham City… unless they were up to something illegal.

But then again, Bruce Wayne had already passed under Dick's critical eye. He was one of the good ones. He wouldn't hurt Dick.

No… there was only one reason a man like Mr. Wayne would take him in. Pity.

Dick didn't need pity. He didn't need sympathy. He needed to be wanted. If Mr. Wayne was only doing this because he felt sorry for what Dick had experienced… well, it just wouldn't be real. This man might feed him, give him a warm bed, clothe him in actual clothes instead of the Juvenile Hall's uniform; but what if he didn't even like Dick?

The physical trauma he had gone through could be easily fixed with nourishment, sleep, and a few bandages. What he needed was someone who could help him emotionally. Dick wasn't dumb. He knew he needed help. He didn't want to be moody and withdrawn for the rest of his life. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh again. But he needed a reason to. Was Mr. Wayne capable of helping him with that? The current silence in the car didn't reassure him.

He sighed and closed his eyes, imagining what his parents would say if they could hear the pity party he was throwing in his head.

_Richard John Grayson_, his mother would've scolded, _This man just got you out of that horrible cell. You shouldn't be so critical of him._

"Eu sunt imi pare rau," (I'm sorry) he mumbled softly, speaking Romani in case Mr. Wayne heard him, "Are doar astfel incat tare fara tu. Am nu stiu ce pentru a face." (It's just so hard without you. I don't know what to do)

_We know, son_, he imagined his father's voice, _But you can't stop living because we're gone. Give him a chance, he seems like a good person… not everyone can be good with people_.

"Bolnav incercati, dar…" (I'll try, but…)

_No 'buts', little robin, _his mother reprimanded, _Be strong. Be happy. For us._

He sighed, "Bine, Am promisiunea." (Alright, I promise)

He was sure most people would think he was crazy, pretending to talk to his dead parents like that. But he didn't care. He felt better then he'd felt since that night.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't realize the car had stopped. He jumped when someone opened his door. An old man in a neatly pressed suit was holding an umbrella over his head. Dick didn't even need to study him to know he could be trusted. He was what Dick always thought a grandfather would look like. A kind weathered face, a small warm smile. But it still startled him.

"Cine sunt tu?" (Who are you?) Dick automatically said. Then he realized that it was probably rude to ask that and he was still speaking Romani anyway. He looked down in embarrassment. "Sorry," he said, his voice was weak and his accent could be clearly heard.

The man just smiled, "That's quite alright, sir," he had an accent too, like the people Dick had met overseas at a show in London. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth," he introduced himself with a slight bow, "I cook the meals and make sure everything is kept clean."

"Nice to meet you," Dick managed quietly, "My name is Richard Grayson."

"Yes sir, I know," Mr. Pennyworth nodded, "I've just finished preparing your room." He offered his hand, "Would you care to come inside, Master Richard? You might catch a cold in this rain."

Dick tilted his head in confusion. Master? He'd only ever heard that word at the circus when Pop Haley introduced himself as the 'Ringmaster'. That obviously wasn't what Mr. Pennyworth had meant. Maybe it was part of the language the older man had spoken before he learned English.

Cautiously, he slid his hand into Mr. Pennyworth's and let himself be helped out of the car. He almost fell over in shock when he got his first look at Mr. Wayne's home. It looked more like a fortress than a house. Big, dark, intimidating. "Nebun," (Crazy) he whispered. He glanced at Mr. Pennyworth and timidly asked, "How many people live here?"

"I, Master Bruce, and now you, sir."

Dick's eyes widened. Just the three of them? It looked big enough to hold Pop Haley's entire circus… Big Top and elephant included. "Nebun," he muttered again.

He heard the sound of the trunk shutting and turned slightly to see Mr. Wayne sliding a ring full of keys into his pocket while clutching the handle of a small suitcase in his other hand. It was Dick's suitcase. The one the social worker had packed. The guards had taken it from him the day of the funeral and locked it into storage with Peanut.

"Come along, Master Richard," Mr. Pennyworth said pleasantly as he gently pulled Dick towards the door, "We'll show you to your room so you can wash up while I fix you something to eat. What would you like?"

Dick frowned. He knew he needed to eat. It had been at least a day and a half since he had anything… even then it was just one slightly bruised apple. He couldn't remember when he'd last had a full meal. He was just at that point. Where he knew he should eat, but felt like he'd be sick to his stomach if he did. But one look at Mr. Pennyworth told him that he didn't have a choice. He had the same look on his face that Dick's mother did when he refused to eat his vegetables.

"I don't know, sir," he said softly, "Anything is fine I guess."

"Very well," Mr. Pennyworth said with a slight sigh, "Perhaps some soup would be best. And please, call me Alfred."

Dick just nodded as they walked inside. The entryway was large and echoey, with dark wooden floors, red carpeted stairs at the end of the hall, and a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were a few doors and arched openings leading to different rooms as well. The storm outside made everything seem gloomier than it probably was… he hoped. Alfred let go of his hand, closed the umbrella, and placed it in a bucket-type thing by the door.

"Master Bruce," he turned to Mr. Wayne, "would you please show Master Richard to his room and help him get settled." Dick could tell it wasn't really a question.

Mr. Wayne's eyes widened in surprise. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as though he were trying to say something, but didn't know what words would fit. Dick kind of knew how that felt… it had been the same for him when he first started using English.

M. Wayne managed to mumble, "Sure." But it hardly mattered because Alfred had already left them. Mr. Wayne looked down at Dick and tried to smile, but he was too nervous for it to look like more than a grimace.

"So…" Mr. Wayne said awkwardly, "your room is… upstairs." Dick just tilted his head curiously. "Why don't you… I'll… follow me," he finally formed a complete sentence. Without another word he turned and led the way up the stairs.

Dick sighed and went after him. At least this was going to be interesting. He could tell.

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Next up we have Dick settling in... sort of. There still won't be much dialogue until chapter 6 though.


	5. Chapter 5: Sort of Settling In

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Morning! No increasingly long A/N today, just saying thanks for the reviews and favorites. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 5: Sort of Settling In

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The only thought that came to mind when Dick saw his 'room' was that his old trailer could fit inside it at least two times. The bed alone was like their kitchen and family area combined. And it was so empty.

He'd spent eight years in a cramped, messy, disorganized mobile home. Movement had been limited. He couldn't count how many times his parents had bumped into each other and ended up laughing and kissing while he wrinkled his nose. Whatever his mother cooked would quickly fill the rooms with their aroma… a problem, in Dick's opinion, when she decided to make meatloaf. Usually he slept on the couch, being so short that it wasn't at all uncomfortable; but sometimes when it got too cold his parents would let him sleep with them, curled up in the middle of the small bed.

This place seemed_ too_ big. For one thing, there wasn't any furniture except for the bed, a dresser with a mirror, a nightstand, and a long wooden trunk at the end of the bed. There were no pictures or decorations on the walls. The tall window was covered with long drapes making the room dark and slightly creepy. _Everything_ in the room was dark. Dark mahogany. Dark wooden floors. Pitch black comforter.

Not exactly the cheerful family home he'd been hoping for.

Mr. Wayne flipped on the light and walked across the room to put the suitcase on the bed. He appeared to be even more nervous now than he'd been downstairs. Maybe because they were alone now and he'd actually have to talk. "So… your closet is over here. And this is the bathroom," Mr. Wayne walked around indicating the doors, "Alfred has already bought you some new clothes… I thought you might like your old things too."

Dick glanced at the suitcase. He had never actually opened it so he wasn't sure what was in it. At her office, the social worker had shoved a t shirt and jeans into his hands and told him to change out of his performance outfit… he hadn't been able to stop himself from throwing up when he saw the blood on it. Was it still stained? He wasn't sure if he should find out.

Still he nodded, "Thank you." Those were the first words he'd spoken to Mr. Wayne directly. Not much, but still enough to make the man shift uncomfortably and run a hand through his damp hair.

"I'll, um… I'll just let you get cleaned up," Mr. Wayne said. He was out of the room before Dick could even blink. But the boy barely noticed.

He had already turned his attention back to the suitcase. Cautiously, he approached the bed. As though he were afraid it would eat him up. He gripped the zipper and took a deep breath, hoping his stomach was too empty for him to throw up. As he slowly opened the lid he was expecting the worst. He'd managed to convince himself that the rain had seeped into the bag, made the blood runny again, and now all of his clothes would be painful red reminders of that horrible night. What he wasn't expecting was…

"Peanut!" he gasped in shock. There, lying on the clothes, staring up at Dick with black button eyes, was the elephant. Light purple 'skin', rainbow polka-dot hat and bandana, floppy ears and stringy tail. He looked exactly the same as the last time Dick had seen him; that was a relief.

He gently lifted the toy out of the case and squeezed him close. With his head buried in the familiar stuffed animal Dick felt comforted for the first time in a while. Nothing about his life was making any sense. Everything was changing so fast and too often. But at least Peanut would stay the same. He even smelled like home.

"Suntem merge pentru a fi bine, Arahide," (We're going to be alright, Peanut) he murmured, "Noi sunt impreuna acum." (We are together now)

He stood there for a few more minutes rocking slightly as he tried to convince himself that it was true. He would be alright… eventually. Finally he opened his eyes and looked back at the suitcase. Another surprise greeted him.

His uniform was on top. It was slightly crumpled but it was clean. Dick set Peanut on the bed and carefully lifted the brightly colored costume. There wasn't a speck of dirt or a drop of…

He shook his head in bewilderment. The social worker wouldn't have cleaned it, would she? Maybe she just didn't want it to start smelling or something. He glanced at the suitcase once more. Just some casual clothes, socks, and a pair of pajamas. He picked out some clean clothes, replaced the uniform, and started to close the case. Then he noticed something in the lining of the top.

He remembered the case had been an anniversary gift to his parents from Marco, the illusionist. They'd told him it was special because it had a secret compartment where they could keep their most valuable possessions. Dick had wondered what they kept in it for a long time but never got around to asking. They didn't have anything valuable.

He quickly found the hidden latch and pulled the fabric down. His eyes stung when he saw what was inside. What his parents had considered their most valuable possessions.

Pictures. Pictures of their family.

His hands were shaking as he pulled out the small stack of snapshots. They weren't anything special really; a lot of them were fuzzy or out of focus. But to him they were more beautiful than anything a professional could've done. Because they were of the everyday things that had seemed so normal and probably boring at the time. Eating ice cream on the trailer roof with his father, spraying his mother with the water hose while giving Zitka a bath, all three of them laughing as they sat on the trapeze using it as a swing. Then there was the one he'd taken of his parents one night after practice. They had been so tired that they'd just crashed on the couch, still in the uniforms. His father had his arms spread across the top and his legs stretched halfway across the small room; his mother was curled into his side with her head on his chest, auburn hair falling into her eyes. They just looked so peaceful and content Dick hadn't been able to resist taking the picture. He had shown it to everybody before his parents even woke up. They'd laughed afterwards.

Dick set the photographs on the bed and swiped at his eyes. How was it possible to feel so much pain and comfort at the same time? He hadn't learned the English word for it yet, but he was pretty sure that in Romani it was called 'amaruie'. (bittersweet)

There was only one other thing in the secret compartment. It seemed to be a large, white piece of paper. But it was more than that. Before Dick even turned it over he knew what it was.

'THE AMAZING FLYING GRAYSONS: PERFORMING DEATH-DEFYING STUNTS WITHOUT THE SAFETY OF THE NET!' That's what was written at the bottom of the poster. In big bold letters. Three silhouetted figures filled the rest of the page. Black on a yellow background with small circled Gs on their chests, right above their hearts.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the words 'death-defying'. He couldn't help it. He would've kept on staring too… probably for hours. But he could hear someone moving outside the closed door.

Faster than he thought was humanly possible he closed the suitcase, hid the poster and pictures under one of the abnormally large pillows, grabbed his clothes, and ran into the bathroom to clean himself up before Alfred or Mr. Wayne could come to check up on him.

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Whew! That was quite a chapter. I had all intentions of having Dick interacting more with Bruce and Alfred… well, more like Alfred being Alfred and trying to get the two of them to open up more. After all, Dick is still depressed and Bruce is obviously clueless about these things. But then I got waaaay of track and lost in Dick's thoughts. Next chapter for 100% sure there _will_ be Alfred. Hope you liked it. P.S. I totally made up the illusionist's name.


	6. Chapter 6: Ceapa Soup for the Soul

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Busy day toady, so I'm posting early. Thanks for the reviews and faves; hope you like this chapter.

Chapter 6: Ceapa Soup for the Soul

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It took about twenty minutes for Dick to get all the grime from his stay at Juvenile Hall off of him. They'd had showers there. But two minutes once a day wasn't Dick's idea of sanitary. Especially when they had them before the hour of 'recreation'. He wasn't sure if that was how every cell block did it, but the guard of his block had found it funny for some reason.

Dick felt fresh for the first time in weeks. Clean clothes, wet hair, brushed teeth. He felt like a different person. He really wanted to climb into the bed and try to get a few hours of sleep; but seeing how much he had to tighten his belt to keep his pants from slipping, he decided maybe food wasn't such a bad idea.

The only problem was he knew he'd get lost trying to find the kitchen. This place was so big. For all he knew, there were twelve kitchens. What if he found the wrong one and had to just sit there waiting for someone to find him?

He opened the door and jumped when he saw Alfred standing there waiting for him. "Ah, Master Richard," his face was expressionless but there seemed to be a merry twinkle in his eyes, "I see you did not fall down the drain after all."

Dick's eyebrows scrunched in confusion, "Drain?"

"Yes, young sir," Alfred explained patiently, "The drain is the device which carries away the water once you are done with it. I believe for you it would be called a 'scurgere'."

Now his eyes were wide with surprise, "You speak Romani?"

"Of course. I assumed you would know that after I answered your earlier question about who I was."

"Oh," Dick looked down slightly embarrassed. He wondered if Mr. Wayne spoke it too. If so, then he would have understood what Dick had said in the car. Known he was talking to his dead parents. He could feel his cheeks color.

"No need to give it another thought," Alfred assured him, "Now if you are ready, I have fixed a French onion soup." Dick pursed his lips in thought as Alfred led him down the stairs.

He'd heard the word 'onion' before and he knew it was a food but he just couldn't place it.

Alfred looked down at him as they walked and frowned. It made Dick feel self-conscious. _Is it my clothes? _He thought tugging on his t shirt. Maybe they weren't dressy enough for him to live in a place like this. He probably should have worn the things Mr. Wayne had said Alfred bought him. He didn't want to do anything that might offend either of them. Whatever he was expected to do here had to be better than that prison.

"Pardon my asking, Master Richard," the older man's voice interrupted his thoughts, "but did they give you any food at that place?"

Not what he was expecting. He didn't answer right away. He was going over the English to make sure he answered the question accurately. Finally he nodded, "Yes, they gave me food."

Alfred studied him thoughtfully and somewhat skeptically. Dick couldn't understand why. He had answered the question honestly. They _had _given him food. Alfred sighed after a while, "Did you eat all the food they gave you?"

This question was easier, "No."

"May I ask why?"

"I guess so," Dick said slowly. He wondered why Alfred needed permission to ask a question. Whenever he was curious about something he just came right out and said it.

When Dick didn't say anything else, Alfred raised an eyebrow. Then his expression changed to one of amusement and he asked, "Why did you not the food they gave you?"

"Because people…" Dick screwed up his face and looked around trying to find the right word, "They… a luat…" (took) he thought for another moment, "They called it 'stealing' I think."

The amused look was replaced by one of concern, "They took your food?" Dick nodded as they arrived at what must have been the kitchen. He could smell the 'onion' soup through the door and his stomach growled, not for the first time that day.

Alfred opened the door and gently pushed him inside. It was roomy and everything was so clean it seemed to shine. There was one counter in the middle of the kitchen area that was separate from all the others. Dick had never seen anything like it. A table much bigger than the old fold-out one in their trailer sat a short distance from cooking section. There were two places set. Dick wondered if the other was for Alfred or Mr. Wayne.

"You may sit down, Master Richard," Alfred motioned towards the table, "I shall bring you your soup."

He didn't say anything as he climbed into one of the chairs and settled his hands in his lap. Mr. Wayne walked in then and gave him a small smile as he sat down in the other chair. "You seem refreshed," he said awkwardly trying to make conversation.

"Yes, sir," was all Dick could manage as he stared at the placemat. There was an uneasy silence as Alfred set two bowls down in front of them. He shot Mr. Wayne a disapproving look, but Dick didn't notice. He had picked up the spoon and took a cautious sip.

His eyes widened. He knew what an 'onion' was now. "Salbatice ceapa supa," (Wild onion soup) he said with the tiniest hint of a smile. His mother had made it often, mostly in the fall months.

Alfred smiled and went back into the cooking area and started wiping down the counters. They looked perfectly clean to Dick. "You were saying before, Master Richard," the old man said conversationally, "that someone had been stealing your food at the Juvenile Prison?"

"Yes, sir," Dick answered taking another careful sip of soup. He was afraid if he ate too fast it would all come back up later.

"When did you last eat?" It was the first thing that Mr. Wayne had said without stuttering. Dick was surprised to see the serious look on his frowning face.

Dick tilted his head as he thought. He knew what he wanted to say but the words were so much easier to say in his mind than out loud. He looked at Alfred for help, "Ieri?"

"Yesterday?" Mr. Wayne was the one to answer.

Dick nodded and once again said, "Yes, sir."

"When yesterday?" he asked sounding upset, "What did you eat?"

Dick shrugged looking a bit uncomfortable, "I had an apple… but I don't know when." He couldn't tell if it was him that Mr. Wayne was upset with. Was he too weak? Did Mr. Wayne want someone who could defend themselves?

"And before the apple?" Mr. Wayne pressed, "When and what did you eat?"

Dick looked down and tried not to fidget too much as he thought. "I don't… I can't… uh, amintiti-va." (remember)

Mr. Wayne seemed to be studying him, which just unnerved him even more. "The bruise on your cheek," Mr. Wayne said, "how did you get that?"

"Bruise?" Dick repeated touching his cheek. His thoughts were getting increasingly jumbled as Mr. Wayne was looking more agitated every second.

"Zdrobi," he elaborated.

"The guard?" Dick's voice sounded small and uncertain. Mr. Wayne scowled and slapped his hand down on the table. It wasn't hard or loud but it still startled the boy. He jumped and accidently knocked over his glass of water. Luckily it didn't break, but water and ice was spreading rapidly towards the edge of the table.

"Imi pare rau!" (Sorry) he yelped as he jumped up and tried to stop it with his cloth napkin, "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't insemna pentru a." (mean to) He didn't even realize he was switching back and forth between Romani and English as he continued to apologize.

Mr. Wayne and Alfred were too shocked to do anything for a moment. Mr. Wayne was the first to recover though. He tried to take the napkin from the boy, but Dick flinched and shrunk away from his raised hand with eyes squeezed shut. Alfred quickly took control of the situation when he saw Mr. Wayne was only making it worse.

He grabbed a roll of paper towels and had the spill cleaned up in mere seconds, before it even had time to reach the floor. Then he gently pried the napkin from the shivering boy's hand and sat him down in the seat. "Everything is alright, Master Richard," he soothed, "No one here is going to hurt you. You've done nothing wrong, it was simply an accident."

He continued talking softly until Dick calmed down. He shot Mr. Wayne an annoyed look. Looking sheepish and quite flustered the other man excused himself and left the room. "There now," Alfred gave Dick's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "Master Bruce can be a bit insensitive at times but I can promise that he won't hurt you, Master Richard. No need to fret."

Dick glanced at the door Mr. Wayne had left through, still a bit skeptical. But then again, Dick had already decided he was trustworthy. Trustworthy people didn't hit eight-year-olds, right?

He turned back to Alfred, who looked like he was waiting for some kind of response. Dick slowly nodded and the old man looked relieved.

"Good," he said straightening and moving to throw away the soiled paper towels, "Why don't you finish your soup and then we'll put you to bed?"

"Alright," Dick said softly as he picked his spoon back up. But he didn't eat anything. He was frowning into the bowl with a look of complete concentration on his face. Finally he looked back up and asked, "What is 'fret'?"

Alfred smiled.

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Bruce, Bruce, Bruce (shakes head)… props for trying, but he totally screwed up. Looks like Batman took over and scared poor Dick. Things will probably be awkward between those two for a while. But hey, at least Dick likes Alfred. Okay, next chapter there's a surprise in store. (zips lips) No spoilers.


	7. Chapter 7: A Knight of Remembrance

Disclaimer: Still don't own.

Goshness! I think that last chapter got more reviews then any of my other ones. Thank you all so much. I hope you're having as much fun reading it as I am writing it. Here's the next chapter. P.S. Please excuse my corny chapter title.

Chapter 7: A Knight of Remembrance

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Dick sat cross legged on his bed. He'd been staring at the digital clock on the nightstand intently for forty-seven minutes exactly. 7:23 p.m. If he was going to do this today he was running out of time. There was still a chance he could convince Alfred, but the longer he waited the more likely the answer would be 'no'.

All day long he'd been trying to work up the courage to ask. But every time he ran into the old man the words would get stuck in his throat. Then Mr. Wayne had gotten back from work and Dick had closed himself up in his room.

He'd been at Wayne Manor for two weeks now, but he still wasn't comfortable around Mr. Wayne. That was okay, though. He only ever saw the man at breakfast and occasionally dinner. Their conversations were limited to 'good mornings' and 'how did you sleeps?' Mr. Wayne would leave for Wayne Tower and wouldn't come back until around five. Shortly afterwards, he would go into the small study on the second floor and lock the door. Sometimes he'd skip dinner, leaving Dick to eat alone, and Alfred would take him something on a silver tray.

Dick wondered what kind of 'paperwork', as Mr. Wayne had called it, took so much time that he couldn't finish it until well after midnight. Dick had woken up from a nightmare a few days before and heard Mr. Wayne walking by his room. It was past three. He'd asked Alfred why Mr. Wayne stayed up so late, but all the butler had said was, "Master Bruce is a very important businessman. He likes to be sure everything in his company is in order before he takes personal time."

Dick didn't know what a businessman did. But it sounded boring.

As awkward as things were with Mr. Wayne, Dick liked being at Wayne Manor okay. Mostly because of Alfred. He had been kind and patient with Dick ever since the first day. Helping him adjust. Teaching him how speak and read 'proper' English. And he was an amazing cook. He'd even managed to get Dick to smile a few times. Small smiles… but still an accomplishment.

That's why Dick had wanted to talked to him about today. Alfred would probably understand better than Mr. Wayne.

7:30. Dick took a deep breath. Mr. Wayne should be in his study by now; it would be safe to talk to Alfred. It was now or never.

He hopped off of the bed and started for the kitchen, where Alfred was sure to be. He was going to do it this time. He'd just have to cross his fingers the older man would say yes. Before he knew it he was in the room watching Alfred polishing the silverware.

"Master Richard," he said with a smile, "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

"My room," Dick said as his stomach filled with butterflies.

Alfred frowned and looked at him curiously, "You seem to have something on your mind?"

Dick sat down at the table, "I wanted to ask you if… maybe I could have a few flowers from your garden?"

It was a simple enough question, but the old man suspected there was something else on the boy's mind. "I suppose that would be alright," he said pleasantly, "May I ask what you would be doing with them?"

Dick had realized by now that when Alfred said 'May I' he wasn't asking for permission to ask his question. That had confused him the first few days. He was just allowing Dick to decide whether to answer or not.

"Well… I was wondering if maybe…" he looked down and his voice seemed to get softer as he spoke, "Maybe you could drive me to the cimitir." (cemetery) He couldn't remember the English word for it. "I would like to leave them for my… for my parents."

Alfred's face softened, "Of course, Master Richard. Should we leave after breakfast tomorrow?"

"De fapt," (actually) he felt his cheeks heat up slightly as he found himself struggling with his English once again. Mostly it happened when he thought about his parents. It was getting better, but sometimes he just subconsciously slipped back into Romani. He sighed and focused on his words, "Actually, I was hoping we could go now."

Alfred looked hesitant, "It is getting quite late… the sun will have set completely by the time we get there."

"I know," Dick said, "but it wouldn't be the same… maine." (tomorrow)

"And may I ask why, young Master?" Alfred had put the silverware away and was sitting at the table now too.

Dick sighed again and tried to explain, "Today was special. It was the day I landed my first… cvadrupla?"

"Quadruple," Alfred supplied.

"Quadruple," Dick sounded out carefully, "My first quadruple flip. Only a few people in the intreg lume-"

"Whole world," Alfred interrupted gently.

"Right," Dick had been getting carried away, "Well, my tatal said it was an important… semn?"

"Sign."

Dick nodded, "It was a sign that I was on my way to becoming a real man… like him. They said we had to ce-celebrate?" he looked at Alfred questioningly. The old man nodded and Dick finished, "We spent the day together… just the three of us. I'd like to… do something for them. In memory?" He looked down as he waited to hear what the old man would say.

Alfred stood up and gave him a small smile, "Then we had better get going right away, hadn't we?"

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Dick tightened his grip on the flowers as Alfred guided him through the cemetery by the hand. He didn't know what he was feeling. All of his thoughts had become so jumbled on the car ride. He vaguely remembered thinking that there were too many headstones. Too many people taken away from the ones that loved them.

Was it strange that he found it somewhat comforting? Not the fact that all of these people were dead, of course. But in a way it was reassuring… knowing he wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one grieving. Trying to fill the void his parents had left in his heart.

Every stone they passed, Dick found himself wondering about the people buried there. Who they were, what their story was… how they had died. But the closer he came to his parents graves, the more those thoughts faded away. Every thought faded away. Every thought except for…

No. He wasn't going to think about that. He refused. This was supposed to be a day for happy memories. The day he landed a quadruple flip. The day he and his parents had left Haley's Circus behind to sightsee. To make the day one he'd never forget. Just the three of them.

They'd taken him to a restaurant for the first time. _That _had certainly been memorable. But the waitress had given him those crayons. How was he supposed to know it was bad to color the table? It had been so boring and white anyway. Dick thought they would've appreciated him giving it 'character' as Archibald, the tattooed man, would say.

His father had scolded him then, in front of the angry waitress and her manager; but as soon as they were out of there and far enough away, his parents had burst out laughing. He was just relieved they weren't really mad.

Dick couldn't help but smile sadly as he played that day over again in his head.

"Master Richard?" Dick hadn't realized they'd stopped walking. His breath caught in his throat when he saw their names. John and Mary Grayson.

Alfred let go of his hand and pushed him forward. "I'll be right here," the older man assured him, "Take whatever time you need."

"Thank you," Dick said softly, not taking his eyes off of the graves. Very carefully he approached the polished stones, a breeze rippling through his hair. He noticed that Alfred had stopped at just the right distance. Close enough to see Dick in the darkness; but far enough that Dick could talk to his parents if he wanted, without being overheard. That wasn't a problem though. Dick's mouth felt too dry to say much.

He went into a trance-like state. Separating the flowers, arranging them in the proper holders. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thing that he most wanted to leave for them. One of their pictures.

It had been his mother's favorite one from that day. She'd even had a bigger copy made to hang over the couch. The three of them were sitting on the edge of a fountain. They'd had to squeeze close together because his father was taking the picture himself. Big smiles, wind-blown hair, a dot of chocolate ice cream still on the tip of his nose.

His eyes stung and he bit his lip in an attempt to stop the tears. He wanted to leave this for them. To tell them how much he loved them and missed them before Alfred took him back to the Manor. But he didn't get the chance.

There had been a storm brewing when they left for the graveyard. What had been a steady breeze when they'd arrived was now a strong continuous wind. As Dick's grip had slackened on the photograph, it was easily ripped away and blown across the ground towards the line of trees.

"No!" he shouted as he jumped to his feet and ran after it. He vaguely heard Alfred calling out for him to stop but he ignored the older gentleman. He disappeared into the trees.

The photo flitted back and forth as though it were toying with him. Leading him on a never-ending chase. Dick was starting to get a stitch in his side by the time he saw it snagged by a bush. A raindrop fell onto his arm. Alfred was going to be upset with him for running off like that, especially since it was looking like they'd get soaked before they reached the car.

As long as he was in trouble anyway, Dick was determined to get his picture back. He approached it cautiously, afraid it would fly away again if he moved too quickly. He got on his hands and knees and very carefully pried it from the branches. Breathing a sigh of relief he started to stand…

"-got the merchandise?" a muffled voice froze him in place.

"If you've got the money," another replied. Dick got onto his stomach and peeked under the foliage at the two people standing five feet away. One of them shifted and it sounded like he'd tossed something to the other. A steady drizzle was falling now.

"Count it if ya want," the first one said, "I got all night."

"Yeah?" the other replied grouchily, "Well I don't. I got the evening tour."

"Then looks like you're gonna have ta take my word."

The other one snorted, "Or just quit doing my business with you if ya double-crossed me."

"Whatever," the first one said dismissively, "It's there, kay? Where's the stuff?"

Dick frowned. He didn't have to see these two to know they were up to no good. They had to be doing something illegal. But there was no way he could call the police right now, and they'd be gone by the time he could. Maybe he could get a look at their faces. That might help. And he wouldn't be letting them get away with… whatever they were doing.

Then again, they could be dangerous. What would they do if they saw him trying to sneak away? He couldn't defend himself against two grown men.

"Master Richard?" a voice cut through the wind and light rain. Dick's eyes widened as the men turned towards the sound. Alfred's shoes appeared far to the left of his line of vision. The only thought in Dick's mind now was, _Nu bun_. (Not good)

"Oh," Alfred stopped in surprise, "I beg your pardon, but have you seen a young boy in this area?"

Dick slid backwards and slowly poked his head out to get a better look at the scene. The two men had their backs to him, so the only thing he could tell about them was they were well built and tall. Alfred was in a better position to see Dick, but the rain was getting heavier every second. It was hard for Dick to make out his expression. Probably worried for him.

"Can't say that we have," said one of the guys. The one that had supposedly brought the 'merchandise'. "How did you lose him?" He sounded casual enough, but his friend obviously wasn't. From where he stood, Dick could see him pulling something out of his belt.

Dick's eyes widened again and he jumped out of his hiding place, "Alfred look out, he's got a gun!"

The butler dropped to the ground with surprising speed as the guy fired at him. The other turned to face Dick and Alfred said, "Run, Master Richard!"

Dick didn't question him. He sprinted through the downpour without looking back and hoped Alfred would be okay. Maybe that one guy had a gun, but Alfred was smarter… he'd be able to get away.

The one with the 'merchandise' was chasing after him. Dick had a bit of a head start, and he was darting back and forth to throw the man off. But his legs were a lot shorter and the rain was making it hard not to trip over his own feet. He couldn't outrun this guy.

Then he saw it. The perfect thing to throw his pursuer off. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Dick changed direction slightly. In one fluid motion he fell into a cartwheel, turned it into a back-handspring, and used his momentum to flip twice. At the arch of the second one he extended his body. His hands gripped the tree branch he'd been aiming for and he swung himself upwards to perch on it and wait for the bad guy to run by.

The man didn't even pause as he barreled past. He hadn't seen. Dick was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard a loud crack. What he hadn't been able to see from the ground was that this branch had been damaged by an earlier storm. Barely hanging on to the tree, it only needed a small amount of pressure to break.

Before he knew what was happening Dick was on his back, blinking rain out of his eyes and trying to get breath into his lungs. And on top of that, the man had doubled back at the noise. He quickly had Dick pinned beneath him, struggling weakly.

"No!" Dick screamed, "Alfred! Ajutor!" (Help) The man clamped a hand over his mouth turning his cries into muffled protests. He pulled a knife out and Dick struggled harder.

"Sorry kid," the man muttered shaking his head, "Looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't worry… I'll make it quick."

This made no sense to Dick. How could you tell a person not to worry when you were about to kill them? His heart was pounding in his chest, like it was trying to beat out all the years that were about to be stolen from him. He closed his eyes and waited to die…

The man cried out in pain and his hand released Dick's mouth. Something made a 'thunking' sound as it embedded itself into a nearby tree. The knife fell to the ground, almost slicing Dick's ear.

He opened his eyes in surprise. The man was holding his other hand and wincing as he looked around nervously. Dick turned his head slightly and squinted at the strange looking knife sticking out of the tree. It was hard to tell what it was supposed to be, but it looked like an animal. A bat?

The man grabbed the knife again, got off of Dick, and pulled him in front of himself… a human shield. He muttered something that sounded like 'Fat man' and held the knife to the boy's neck. "Come any closer and I'll kill the kid!"

_Wasn't he going to do that anyway? _Dick thought. Then he registered what the guy had said. Not 'Fat man'. "Batman," he repeated so quietly it was impossible for anyone else to hear.

Dick had heard that name before. A lot while he was in Juvenile Hall; kids there were always talking about how 'the Bat' had busted their parents. He was something they called a 'vigilante'. Other than that he didn't know anything about the man. But since the guy threatening to cut his throat open was scared of him…

Still, there was no way Batman could catch the creep when Dick was being used as leverage. He had to at least put a bit of distance between himself and the bad guy so Batman could act.

Dick took a deep, calming breath. He could do this.

Dick raised his foot and quickly kicked backwards with all his might, careful to keep his neck away from the knife. The guy cursed loudly when pain erupted in his shin. But Dick wasn't done yet. He swung his elbow at the jerk, which promptly doubled over. Unfortunately for him, Dick wasn't tall enough to reach his stomach. His hold on the knife loosened and the boy pushed it away.

He scrambled out of reach and turned in time to see a dark figure descend on his attempted murderer. His mind didn't even have time to register what was happening; before he knew it the guy was lying on the ground, cuffed and unconscious. The figure stared at him for a moment before turning.

Dick took a quick step back and tripped over a stump. He landed rather ungracefully on his butt and swallowed. Batman was _much _scarier than he'd imagined. He was completely decked in black, almost radiating darkness. The long cape and bat-like cowl would probably have looked ridiculous on most people… but this guy was too intimidating to be laughed at.

Dick tried not to shudder when Batman walked over and kneeled in front of him. "Are you alright?" he questioned in a low gruff voice. Dick could only manage a small nod. Without another word, the man reached inside one of the pockets of his utility belt. He handed Dick the picture of him and his parents… he'd dropped it while being chased. When he looked back up Batman was gone.

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(Yawn) Goodness! That was the _longest _chapter I have ever written. Almost eight whole pages! It was fun though. As you probably guessed from the chapter title, my surprise was Dick meeting the Batman. I thought it'd be cool if he had a run-in with him before he knew it was Bruce. Hoped you liked the action in there too. Next chapter I want to have Bruce and Dick start to get closer. Mostly over a conversation about (three guesses?)… Batman! Till tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8: Shift in Relations

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Not really much to say today. Just the usual 'Thank you, Thank you, Thank you' for the reviews, faves, and follows. You guys rock! ;P

Chapter 8: Shift in Relations

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Mr. Wayne was just coming into the foyer looking confused when Alfred and Dick made it back to the Manor. He raised an eyebrow when they came in dripping wet and covered in mud. Dick could understand his surprise; it had to be at least an hour and a half past his bedtime, and Alfred being dirty was like sugar free cotton candy… possible, but not something you saw very often.

"Where did you guys disappear to?" Mr. Wayne finally asked as they took off their soaked jackets.

"The cemetery," Alfred answered putting up the umbrella he had been carrying, even though it had done nothing. "Master Richard wanted to place some flowers at the gravesite."

"And you decided to roll in a mud puddle afterwards?" Mr. Wayne asked innocently, seeming amused. Alfred gave him an annoyed look and pulled two towels from a small cabinet on the wall.

"It was either the puddle or the bullet, Master Bruce," he said sternly as he wrapped one of the towels around Dick's shoulders. Mr. Wayne frowned and started to say something but a sneeze from Dick cut him off.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled shivering slightly.

"Master Richard," Alfred said gently, "why don't you go upstairs and change into your pajamas? I'll make you some hot chocolate. Then we can explain what happened to Master Bruce."

Dick nodded and slowly made his way up the stairs. He thought he heard Mr. Wayne and Alfred talking, but he was too tired to try and listen in on their conversation. Mr. Wayne was probably just asking if they were alright.

Ten minutes later, Dick was sitting Indian-style on the couch in the living room closest to the door. He was wrapped in a blanket, a cup of warm chocolate drink on the coffee table in front of him. Alfred was sitting next to him with tweezers and gauze at the ready. He held Dick's left hand in his own and was meticulously removing the splinters. Dick hadn't noticed them before what with running for his life and almost dying. But he noticed them now. They hurt like crazy. He made a note to himself that if he was ever going to use a tree branch for acrobatics again he'd where gloves.

He winced as Alfred pulled what had to be the fiftieth one out… and they hadn't even started the right hand. Mr. Wayne was sitting in an armchair, watching quietly. Dick couldn't bring himself to be uncomfortable with the man's presence, as he normally would. He was too tired to care.

"So…" Mr. Wayne finally asked, "what happened?"

Alfred didn't say anything but gave a slight nod when Dick looked up at him. Looked like he'd be stuck telling it. Dick sighed. "It was my fault," he began just loud enough for both men to hear, "Alfred said it was getting too late to go. I just… I would've felt bad if I didn't."

He glanced at Mr. Wayne uncertainly. The man nodded in understanding and gestured for Dick to continue, "A… w-wind?" Alfred nodded in confirmation, "A wind had started when we got there. It got stronger and it blew my pi-picture away."

"And Master Richard chased after it," Alfred said somewhat disapprovingly. Dick looked down feeling guilty. He didn't want to let the older man down.

Alfred seemed to sense how he was feeling. He finished wrapping the gauze around Dick's hand and gave it a very gentle reassuring squeeze. Then he took his right hand and started on it as Dick went on with his story.

"I found it in a bush," he explained, "The picture. But then I heard two men talking. They said something about mer-mertz and…" He felt frustrated that he couldn't remember the word. He still had a hard time with the big ones.

"Merchandise?" Mr. Wayne supplied. Dick was relieved that he wasn't acting awkward and distant for once. And that he wasn't getting worked up like that first day. He was letting Dick tell the story in his own way and time, simply listening.

"Yes, that was what they called it. Merchandise," he sounded out the word slowly. It sounded right. "One of them wanted money for the 'merchandise'. The other said he didn't have time to count it… something about an 'evening tour'? I don't know what he meant." Mr. Wayne raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt. "I could tell they weren't good, and I thought maybe I could de-scribe them to the police later. But then Alfred…" he looked at the butler to tell his side.

"I was looking for Master Richard when I ran into those hooligans," at Dick's confused expression he elaborated, "Criminals. I, of course, had no idea they were shady; although they certainly looked it. I inquired if they had seen the young master, and then-"

"And then the one paying for the merchandise pulled out a gun!" Dick interrupted animatedly. He quickly shut his mouth and looked apologetic. "Sorry," he mumbled with red cheeks.

The butler just pursed his lips, trying to hide an amused smile. Mr. Wayne was having more trouble with that than Alfred. "Yes, well," Alfred finally said, "Master Richard saw the gun from his hiding spot and warned me in time. I told him to run and one of the men went after him. Then I managed to find cover behind a tree, and when the other one had foolishly wasted all of his ammunition I came out of hiding. I disarmed him and hit him over the head with his own weapon for good measure. I ran into Master Richard shortly after and used the phone in the car to alert the authorities. Then we returned to the Manor."

Dick stared at him wide-eyed, "You fought him all by yourself?"

"Of course, young Master," Alfred said as though it were nothing, " I was a member of Her Majesty's secret service."

"Who?" Dick frowned tilting his head curiously.

"The Queen of England," Mr. Wayne said chuckling slightly at Alfred's affronted look.

"Oh," Dick said, but he still didn't know what they were talking about. Judging from the twinkle in Mr. Wayne's eyes and the hopeless sigh from Alfred, he wasn't fooling anyone.

"And while Alfred was fighting off the gunmen," Mr. Wayne said more seriously, "what happened to you, Richard?"

Dick frowned, "The other man was chasing me. He was faster than me, so I tried to hide from him in a tree. But the branch broke and I fell."

"He caught you?" Mr. Wayne asked softly. There was a look on his face that Dick couldn't decipher. The boy nodded slowly. "And what happened then?"

Dick sighed. He had been scared when it happened; but somehow telling it was worse. He really had been close to dying. The man had apologized… but he hadn't even hesitated. He was going to kill Dick and he probably wouldn't have lost any sleep over it.

"Do you need a moment, Master Richard?" Alfred had removed all of the splinters and was now handing Dick his hot chocolate.

"No," Dick said softly, accepting the cup, "It's just… he had a knife. He wouldn't let me up. And I couldn't call for help." He looked down and scrunched his eyebrows together, "He told me he was sorry, that I shouldn't worry… and that he'd make it quick."

Alfred frowned and put a comforting arm around his shoulders, "It's alright, Master Richard. The police will have found him by now. He is most likely behind bars as we speak."

Dick nodded but didn't feel any better. Ever since he'd left that man lying there to wait for the police, he'd had this horrible feeling in his stomach. The fortune teller at the circus said she had those feelings all of the time. She called them 'premonitions'.

"How did you get away?" Mr. Wayne's voice interrupted his thoughts. It took a moment for the question to register.

"Batman saved me," he said, actually giving the man a small smile. The first time he'd smiled in front of Mr. Wayne.

Mr. Wayne and Alfred looked at each other briefly and the billionaire raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Batman?"

Dick nodded. "What do you know about him?" he asked curiously. Alfred seemed amused by this question.

"About as much as anyone," Mr. Wayne said seriously, "From what I hear he prefers to stay in the shadows. There's never even been a picture of him. Some people don't believe he exits."

Dick frowned thoughtfully, "Do you?"

Mr. Wayne smiled. A genuine, natural smile that wasn't awkward in the slightest. "I would have to considering how many times he's saved _my _life," he replied.

"You've seen before?" Dick asked eagerly. Mr. Wayne nodded and Dick's eyes brightened slightly. "He saved me," Dick repeated solemnly, "And he even found my picture."

"Really?" Mr. Wayne said studying Dick thoughtfully. "And what did you think of him?" he asked after a moment.

Dick looked at the ceiling and seemed to ponder the question carefully. "He's a bit intimat-intimi…" he sighed and switched to Romani for this one, "Intimidarea."

"It is 'intimidating' in English," Alfred said helpfully.

"Intimidating," Mr. Wayne repeated, "In a scary way? Or impressive way?" Dick raised an eyebrow at the word 'impressive'. "Impresionant."

"Both," Dick said without hesitation. He figured Mr. Wayne would ask what he meant so he just continued. "He looks scary, and he fights really… agresiv?"

"Aggressively."

"Right. I'd probably be nervous if I met him again," Dick admitted, "But I know he wouldn't hurt me. I think he's just… misunderstood?" Dick felt a small surge of pride at the confirming nod. His English was getting better. "He has to be intimidating to scare criminals, right? Even if he scares normal people too… he's just trying to help them." His eyes lit up again as another thought hit him, "Maybe that's why he likes staying in the shadows."

Mr. Wayne tilted his head curiously, much like Dick always did. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Dick explained, "he wants to intimidate criminals, right? In a city like Gotham, he'd have to be just as scary as they are or they wouldn't take him ser-seriously. He helps people, but he can't get close to them without messing up his image? So… he just stays in the shadows." Dick looked from Alfred to Mr. Wayne waiting for a response. They seemed to be considering his words more seriously than anyone else probably would.

Finally Mr. Wayne seemed to come back to reality. He cleared his throat and nodded, "That's an interesting theory, Richard."

"Thanks," Dick's cheeks colored at the complement. Then he straightened as though struck by a sudden idea, "Do you know what I think Batman needs?"

"What would that be, Master Richard?" Alfred inquired sounding honestly curious.

"He needs a partner," Dick said firmly, "Someone who can get closer to the people he helps. Someone they wouldn't be scared of. Batman's partner could com-comfort the… victimele?"

Victims," Alfred offered, but he was staring at Mr. Wayne intently and didn't really seem to be paying attention.

"The partner could comfort the victims," Dick continued, "And Batman could keep his image." He looked at the two men again, but they still had weird expressions on their faces. Dick frowned wondering what he'd said. "Mr. Wayne?" he said uncertainly, "What do you think?"

Mr. Wayne blinked and stared at Dick for a minute. Slowly he nodded. "It makes sense," he said carefully as he glanced at Alfred, "But… finding a partner that could fight and was also good with people, that would take a while."

Dick sipped his hot chocolate. It had been sitting untouched in his hands so long it couldn't really be called hot anymore, or even lukewarm… but it still tasted good. "I guess you're right," he finally conceded, "But I still think it would be a good idea."

Mr. Wayne smiled and nodded, "It would," he agreed.

Dick smiled. A real smile. The first smile since the incident that hadn't been forced or so small you'd miss it if you didn't have a magnifying glass handy.

And that made Alfred smile too. He looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel and stood up. "I believe that it is high time we got you to sleep, Master Richard. I'll prepare your bed while you brush your teeth." He left the room without another word and Dick sighed as he stood to follow.

"Good night, Mr. Wayne," he said softly as he passed the armchair.

"Good night, Richard," the man replied in much the same way.

At the door Dick stopped. "Mr. Wayne?" he said looking down shyly when the man turned towards at him. He swallowed and said just loud enough for the billionaire to hear, "You could call me Dick if you'd like to."

Then he continued after the butler without waiting for an answer.

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Finally Bruce and Dick are making some progress. Now we just need Dick to stop calling him Mr. Wayne and we'll be golden. Also I put a little foreshadowing in there. The whole scene with the 'merchandise' was just supposed to be for the purpose of Dick meeting Batman, but now… When I'm writing it's like something just takes over and plotlines just invade my head. I honestly didn't even think this chapter would be very long, but it's six whole pages! Anyway, hope you liked it.


	9. Chapter 9: Not an Accident

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Sorry about the late update. We're having church meetings this weekend so we've been baking _all _day long. I mean all all day; beignets, brownies, cakes, scones... the list goes on. And we're still not done, just taking a break for lunch. Anyway, thought I'd post now before I get too busy again. Thanks for the likes. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 9: Not an Accident

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Dick was slightly disappointed when Mr. Wayne wasn't at breakfast the next day. Alfred explained that he'd had a very important meeting to get to and had left extra early so he could talk to his CEO before it began.

Dick wasn't expecting Mr. Wayne to start calling him 'son' or play catch in the backyard. He definitely wasn't going to call the man 'Dad'…

But after what had happened the night before, he'd been hoping that maybe something had changed. They'd talked. No fake smiles, no fidgeting and looking for the quickest escape route, no stupid questions. Mr. Wayne had thought his ideas were interesting, and that had made Dick smile a real smile for the first time in too long. That had felt good.

In fact, Dick's last thought before he fell asleep had been 'Maybe he can help me after all'. _If only he didn't have business meetings_, was what he was thinking now.

He sighed and slumped back against the couch. He was sitting on the floor beside a coffee table in one of the smaller living rooms scattered about the Manor. He'd been in there for he didn't know how long, working out some advanced math problems Alfred had written for him. Dick found them to be pretty simple… almost boring. But he'd been doing them as slowly as possible. He wasn't looking forward to giant book of poetry that was waiting for him when he finished.

Apparently he'd be attending a private school at the beginning of the new school year. Being stuck in Juvenile Hall for a month meant he had quite a bit of work to catch up on. But Alfred was confident he could get it done. He even seemed to think Dick could skip one or two grades… once he got the hang of reading and writing in English.

Dick leaned forward to rest his arms and head on the table and closed his eyes. He really didn't want to do anything today. His back was sore from falling out of the tree; his hands were still stinging from the splinters, having to hold a pencil wasn't helping with that; and he was pretty sure he'd caught a cold in all that rain. His throat was kind of irritated and he was feeling congested. Just thinking about those old poems was starting to give him a headache too.

In short, he felt miserable.

"You look like you could use a break." Dick jumped at the unexpected voice. He turned to see who was there and his surprise increased.

"Mr. Wayne?" he tilted his head curiously, "I thought you had a meeting?"

Mr. Wayne smiled and moved into the room to sit on the couch, "I did. It ended about an hour ago and I thought I'd come home for lunch."

Lunch? Dick frowned and looked at the fancy clock on the wall. 11:43. He'd been in there that long? He had thought an hour, maybe two. Of course, it would explain why his knees were hurting so bad.

He moved them into a better position and pulled himself up onto the couch beside Mr. Wayne. The billionaire glanced at the paper on the table, "Trouble with math?"

Dick shook his head, "I just don't like poetry," he admitted.

Mr. Wayne smiled, "Yeah, I never cared for it much either. Couldn't convince Alfred to let me read something else though."

"Me either," Dick said glumly. It wasn't that he didn't like reading. His parents had owned a small collection of books from the different places they'd been, which they'd kept in an old trunk. Every night they'd pick one and take turns reading it out loud. Their version of a bedtime story. But the books that Alfred wanted Dick to read were so boring and long. No action. No humor. No mystery. Those were the kind of books he wanted to read. The kind he'd shared with his parents.

Mr. Wayne seemed to notice he was thinking about more than old English poems. "I wouldn't say anything to Alfred if you skipped it today," he offered lightly.

"Really?" Dick asked hopefully. Mr. Wayne nodded and the boy's whole attitude seemed to change. Looking relieved and much more relaxed, he grabbed the math sheet from the table.

"Finished," he announced two minutes later, "What's for lunch?"

"No idea," Mr. Wayne raised an eyebrow at the worksheet. Every question was answered correctly. "Alfred doesn't let me near the kitchen while he's cooking," he added with a sour look.

Dick scrunched his eyebrows and did his confused head tilt, "Why not?"

Mr. Wayne scratched the back of his neck and shifted a bit in his seat. Not from awkwardness, Dick noticed, but from embarrassment. "Once, when Alfred caught this stomach bug… there was a, uh, an incident."

"Incident?" Dick had a pretty good idea what he meant, but wanted to be sure.

"Incidentul," Mr. Wayne automatically answered. He seemed to be lost in thought though. He was staring at a tiny stain on the carpeted floor… Alfred would probably pull out all of his cleaning supplies and a shampooer if he saw it.

"What happened?" Dick asked when it didn't look like the man was going to continue.

"Mmm," Mr. Wayne was obviously debating whether or not to answer. Finally he sighed. "Let's just say a chicken, a broken timer, a fire extinguisher, and Alfred's favorite oven mitts were involved. I had to buy him new ones. He claims they give him a rash," he finished and rolled his eyes.

Dick smiled a bit sadly, "My tata almost burnt the trailer down cooking fish once. He ruined Mama's apron... so she made him it the fish." He giggled a little. "His face looked really funny too."

Mr. Wayne shook his head looking grave, "Thank God Alfred was too sick to stop me from throwing the chicken out." This made Dick laugh for real. It wasn't loud or long, but it took him by surprise. Just a few weeks before he had felt he'd never laugh again.

Mr. Wayne smiled but didn't say anything. He grabbed a remote from the table and gestured to the TV. "Do you mind if I check the news?"

Dick just shook his head, thinking about the laugh. He couldn't decide how he felt about it. On the one hand it was a good thing; it let him know he wouldn't be hurting forever. He could get past this. He _did _want to be happy again. If he never smiled or laughed again he wouldn't be Dick Grayson anymore. He'd just be an empty shell…

Then again, was it right to laugh again so soon after it happened? They'd only been gone a little over a month and a half. Mostly he knew it was ridiculous to think like that. His parents wouldn't have wanted him to. But still, a small part of him was nagging… like he was betraying their memory or something.

"… long time family employee, Alfred Pennyworth, and young ward, Richard Grayson, were attacked last night." Dick's head snapped up at the sound of his name. How did they know about that? Dick could see that Mr. Wayne was just as surprised as he was, so they couldn't have heard from him. And Alfred couldn't care less for publicity of any kind.

"From reports we've heard," the blonde woman continued, "Pennyworth and Grayson were visiting the graves of the boy's parents when they came across two men in the process of an illegal transaction. One of the men, after firing several shots, was subdued by Pennyworth and is at this moment recovering in the hospital from a concussion. Police say there were signs that Batman intervened with the other man and saved Grayson's life. However by the time police arrived on the scene that man had somehow removed his restraints and fled after attacking the first responding police officer."

"What?!" Dick and Mr. Wayne exclaimed at the same time. Dick glanced at Mr. Wayne. He was clearly agitated, but he had a strange look on his face. A look of concentration, like he was trying to put together a puzzle.

Dick leaned back into the couch again and frowned. He didn't see how that guy could've escaped. Batman had hit him pretty hard, he shouldn't have even been awake by the time the police got there. That hardly mattered though. The point was he'd gotten away. And the bad feeling he'd had last night started growing.

Despite how close he'd been to the guy Dick had never gotten a good look at his face. But what if the man thought he had? What if he came after him? And Alfred? They had been the only witnesses besides the concussed criminal… and he probably wouldn't talk. They were… 'pasive'? (liabilities)

"… true that police are considering putting Grayson into protective custody?" While Dick had zoned out, the woman had kept talking. It was obviously a video from earlier that day. She was standing in front of the police building, speaking with one of the officials. Dick didn't catch his name.

"It _has _been considered," the man said carefully, "But it's very likely his attacker of last night will simply go into hiding for now."

"And what of the murder of his parents? Have you found any leads on who was behind it?"

Dick's heart seemed to stop as soon as that word left her mouth. Murder.

It had been murder? Someone had done it on purpose? Meant for them to die? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. His parents were the nicest people in the world. They didn't have any enemies. None that he knew of.

He shook his head. That could wait. Right now he needed to hear this report.

"Unfortunately, we've made no progress in that case," the man said sounding truly sorry, "We do have one suspect after talking with Jack Haley, the owner of the circus. A man named Tony Zucco. Mr. Haley told us that Zucco had threatened him for 'protection' money the day before the Grayson's deaths. We're still looking for Zucco, but he seems to have disappeared… possibly fled the country."

"Do you believe he may make an attempt on Richard Grayson's life? Finish the job, so to speak?" the reporter asked.

"Until last night, there have been no reported attempts on Grayson's life," the man replied, "And since we think that incident was unrelated, it doesn't seem as though Zucco is planning anything."

"Thank you for your…"

Dick zoned out again, staring at the floor. He could feel Mr. Wayne's concerned gaze on him. He probably had assumed Dick knew about Zucco and the fact that it hadn't been an accident. But in Juvenile Hall he'd never been told anything that wasn't an order or an insult.

Now, to find out his parents deaths had been planned…

And that wasn't even the worst part. Dick had seen him. He'd seen the man arguing with Pop Haley. He remembered thinking Zucco was just one of the people they hired in every city to run the booths. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he'd heard the word 'money'. Dick had thought he just had a problem with the pay.

And worse still, Dick had seen him again. Tampering with the wires.

He felt tears sting his eyes. He'd seen him in the act. Thought he was just making sure the wires were secure. A safety check. Those were nothing new. Nothing suspicious.

"I a fost meu vina," (It was my fault) he breathed out, barely a whisper.

"Dick?" Mr. Wayne said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Dick looked up, his eyes haunted.

"I… I need…" he swallowed, "I'm not hungry. Can you tell Alfred I'm sorry?" Mr. Wayne nodded, understanding written across his face. Dick got up and ran out the door towards his room. Tears already falling down his face.

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I cannot believe I had such a hard time with the first part of this chapter. Seriously, I kept writing and rewriting the first few paragraphs… then all of a sudden I just couldn't stop. Anyway, hope you liked it. Next chapter Bruce will have to convince Dick it wasn't his fault that his parents died. That will definitely strengthen their bond.


	10. Chapter 10: Guiltless

Disclaimer: I disclaim ownership.

Okay, I can't think of anything funny or interesting to type in this a/n. So I'll just thank you for the reviews and faves, randomly type PEANUT BUTTER, and let you read the next chapter.

Chapter 10: Guiltless

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Dick didn't know how long he sat on the bed, clutching Peanut to his chest and rocking back and forth, before he heard a knock on the door. It had to have been close to an hour. He'd forced himself to stop crying after ten minutes. It had only been making his cold worse.

The knock came again.

Dick couldn't decide if he should answer. How could he look anyone in the eye again knowing he was the reason his parents were gone? He'd seen Zucco… seen him in the act. Known he was one of the bad ones. Even from a distance. And he hadn't said anything. In his mind that made him just as responsible as the man himself.

_Why? _he kept thinking, _Why didn't I say something? I always told them when I saw something before. _

If he had, maybe someone would've been suspicious. They might have checked the ropes again. The performance would have been cancelled, his parents wouldn't have gotten on the trapeze, and the police would only be looking for Zucco for _attempted _murder.

Mr. Wayne opened the door when Dick didn't answer the second time. The boy didn't even look up as he walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The billionaire didn't say anything at first, just studied him.

Dick was sure he looked terrible. Pale face. Red nose. Puffy eyes. Tear tracks on his cheeks. It was like that night all over again.

"Dick?" Mr. Wayne finally spoke softly, "I'm sorry that you had to learn about the… circumstances of your parents' death that way. I thought someone would have told you." He frowned, "I would have if I'd known. It's hard enough losing them, but knowing it was because of someone else… intended…"

Dick looked up when his voice trailed off. He'd been expecting pity. Apologies that his parents were dead. Idiotic questions of 'Are you alright?' when it was obvious he wasn't. That's what everyone else had done… well, everyone with a conscience at least.

But Mr. Wayne seemed to know he didn't want that. He didn't need empty words from people who didn't know what he was going through. He needed someone who understood. Who'd suffered similar loss. Who knew from experience you didn't just bounce back from these things. You needed time.

Dick was grateful for that at least. But he still felt horrible. Guilty.

"It was my fault," he whispered looking back down. He felt like he needed to get this off of his chest or it would crush him.

Mr. Wayne frowned and shook his head, "Dick, it wasn't-"

"I saw him!" Dick interrupted burying his head in Peanut, "I saw him do it! I didn't… I thought he was… but then… I didn't tell anyone, and they died!" He took a shaky breath and repeated softly, "I didn't tell."

Mr. Wayne had been surprised at the outburst but now he sighed. "Dick," he tried again, "you couldn't have known what he was doing."

"But I saw him before," Dick's voice was strained, as though he were trying very hard not to cry. "I saw him and Pop Haley… the day he was thr-thre- amenintat." (threatened) "I should've said something when I saw him again. He wasn't demn de incredere." (trustworthy)

"But you didn't understand what he was saying to Pop Haley, did you?" Mr. Wayne tried to reason. Dick shook his head, still not looking up. "Then how would you have known if he were trustworthy or not?"

"I just knew," Dick insisted, "They would've listened if I told them. They would have checked the ropes. They would still be alive. I could have saved them."

"Dick, listen to me," Mr. Wayne said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I know what you're going through. I went through the same thing when I was young."

Dick peeked over the top of the stuffed animal, "Your parents?" he asked quietly. Mr. Wayne nodded. "How did they die?"

"They were shot… right in front of me." He sighed and shook his head, "I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, but I blamed myself for their deaths for years."

Dick frowned, "But you never even saw him before that night, did you?"

"No," he conceded, "but there were other things that I could have done differently. At least, that's what I told myself. They left the theatre for me. If they had decided to wait, we wouldn't have slipped out the back entrance. We wouldn't have gone down that alley. We would've missed the mugger completely. And they wouldn't have died."

"But…" Dick shook his head, "that wasn't your fault. It was just a… aleatoare?"

"Random."

"Right. It was a random mugger."

"It still could have been avoided," Mr. Wayne said.

"No," Dick was sitting up straight now, getting worked up, "You didn't know what would happen. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," he said softly. Dick blinked, his eyebrows furrowed uncertainly. "You didn't know what was going to happen either, Dick."

"Well… I guess… but-"

"No," Mr. Wayne cut him off before he could finish his protest, "No one wants to believe a person would willingly do something like that. I'm sure you could tell he was dishonest, but there was no way you could have known what he was planning. It _wasn't _your fault. The only person responsible is Tony Zucco. Okay?"

Dick stared at a loose thread on the bedspread intently. He was trying to find something to say. To disagree. To keep blaming himself. He still felt there were several things he could have done to save them.

But none of it would bring them back.

He sighed and nodded. Mr. Wayne smiled and stood up, "Good… now what do you say we eat that lunch?"

Dick nodded again and set Peanut on the bed to follow the billionaire downstairs. He glanced up as they walked and managed a small smile. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne." The man just nodded in response.

Dick frowned after a minute and hesitantly asked the question that had been on his mind from the moment he heard. "Do you think they'll catch him?"

Mr. Wayne looked down at him as they entered the living room once again. Seeing the boy's doubtful, if somewhat hopeful, expression he nodded. A determined light came to his eyes. "Zucco will be caught, Dick," he assured him, "I can promise you that."

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If Batman wasn't looking for Zucco before, he definitely is now. Not a very long chapter but I hope you liked the bonding. Now there's just one thing (I already know what) we need to happen… then I can stop typing 'Mr. Wayne' all the time.


	11. Chapter 11: Party Plans

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Saturday, yes! Hoping to get some time to write today, but not sure. My parents are going out to eat for lunch with some Brothers and Sisters from church so my dad won't be here to distract me. It's like a daily routine for the two of us to poke fun at each other. Today he was trying to give me a complex about being a problem child. I told him it wouldn't work because I knew I wasn't the problem child... he is. Anywho, you probably don't really care about my personal life; just felt like sharing a pointless story (which you may or may not have skipped). So on with the story.

Chapter 11: Party Plans

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Dick tugged at the collar of his shirt and tried not to fidget too much. The only other time he'd worn a suit was the day of the funeral. He knew there was a lot on his mind that day, but he thought he would've remembered how uncomfortable it was. Then again, he hadn't had to wear a tie for that… he didn't know how to fix it and the social worker had been 'busy'. That was probably the one thing he'd be willing to thank her for.

He sighed and leaned farther into the backseat of the limo. Right now he and Mr. Wayne were on their way to what the billionaire called a 'benefit'; which Dick figured was just a fancy word for party. It was also something he was not looking forward to. He could already imagine what it would be like. Tiny foods, expensive clothes, men talking business, women gossiping, everyone ignoring him…

Completely boring.

He wished he could just stay at Wayne Manor. He'd even read Alfred's old poetry if it would get him out of this.

He didn't want to be a bother, though. Mr. Wayne had taken him in when he didn't have to. Saved him from a corrupt system. Complaining about a stupid party would make him seem ungrateful, wouldn't it? He didn't want that.

"I'm sorry I have to drag you to this thing," Mr. Wayne apologized. Obviously he'd noticed Dick's discomfort. Not that hard. He hadn't really been trying to hide it.

He shrugged and said half-heartedly, "It's okay."

Mr. Wayne gave him a knowing look. "I don't care much for these things either," he confided, "But since Wayne Enterprises is hosting it, it wouldn't be good if I were absent."

Dick nodded sympathetically. Mr. Wayne had it worse than he did. He'd actually have to talk to people, smile, and act like he wanted to be there. Whereas it was unlikely anyone would even pay attention to Dick.

He frowned in thought and looked up, "Why did you want me to come?"

It hadn't occurred to him to ask before, but now that he thought about it he was puzzled. In a room full of adults who wanted to shake Mr. Wayne's hand and talk to him about money problems, he probably wouldn't have time for Dick either. The boy didn't mind. He'd just find a quiet corner to sit down and wait. But there had to be a reason the billionaire had asked him to come.

Mr. Wayne sighed, "There have been some… rumors. You've been at the Manor for three weeks and the only thing people have heard about was the attack. They're… starting to ask questions. Wondering why I took you in."

"Because you saw it happen and you know what it's like," Dick said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yes, but they don't know that. And not everyone thinks my motives are…" he paused looking for the right word, "honorable. A lot of people like to read more into it then there is."

Dick frowned. Gotham really was a messed up city if nobody wanted to believe someone would take in an orphan just because they were nice. "So what?" he asked, "They think you're hurting me or something?"

"Or something," Mr. Wayne said evasively. Dick didn't know what he meant, but he looked pretty upset about whatever the people thought.

"They didn't care about what happened to me _before _you took me in," he said hoping to make the man feel better. It must have helped a little. Mr. Wayne managed a soft smile but he'd turned his attention to the window. Something was still bothering him, but Dick didn't know what. He decided to change the subject.

"What is the party for, anyway?"

"It's to honor the city's Police Department," Mr. Wayne said. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, "Though to be honest, I don't know how many of the people going are part of it. There will probably be more of Gotham's rich and famous there than actual police officers." Dick raised an eyebrow and gave the billionaire a funny look. Mr. Wayne chuckled, "Like I said, Wayne Enterprises is hosting it, I have to be there."

"Right," Dick sighed, "How long will it be?"

Mr. Wayne looked apologetic, "Three hours at the least." Dick wrinkled his nose but didn't say anything. The billionaire took one look at his miserable expression and frowned. "Maybe we can manage to sneak out after two," he offered.

Dick looked up and gave him a small smile, "Thanks."

Mr. Wayne waved a hand dismissively but was glad he could cheer the boy up. He glanced out the window and suppressed a sigh. "We're here," he announced, "You ready?" Dick nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt. "There's going to be a lot of reporters and photographers on the way to the door," he warned, "Just try to ignore the questions and look straight ahead; you should be fine."

"Okay," Dick bit his lip uncertainly. Mr. Wayne gave him an encouraging smile and opened the door. Cameras were flashing. People were shouting the billionaire's name. Commands came from security to stay behind the ropes.

And then Dick stepped out of the car…

He forced himself to do what Mr. Wayne had said and kept his eyes firmly on the door. The crowd was obviously excited by his presence, but he tried to ignore their calls for his attention. Until the questions started.

He couldn't make out all of them. He had no intentions of answering any of them. But he couldn't help but hear some of them.

"What is it like living with Bruce Wayne?" Not the same as the circus, but definitely better than Juvie.

"Do you like living with him?" Just fine… not that it was any of their business.

"Any thoughts on the attack last week?" Only that he was almost killed and the guy should be in jail.

"How have you been coping with the deaths of your parents?" He was an eight year old kid with only a famous billionaire and a grandfatherly old butler willing to take care of him… how were they expecting him to cope?

"How do you feel about the fact that they were murdered?" Dick noticed his breathing had become rapid and short. Who asked something like that?

"Do you miss them?" Now his eyes were stinging. Of course he missed them. Every day. Every minute. Every time he closed his eyes to go to sleep and dreamed about the times they'd spent together. Every time those dreams morphed into the one moment that ended those times forever. Every time he saw the pictures or the poster. It seemed that there was nothing he could do that didn't remind him of them.

"What do you think about Tony Zucco?" Dick could only think of one thing in answer to this question...

Justice. Tony Zucco deserved to be brought to justice.

That was the last question he heard before they made it through the door. Dick couldn't help but sigh in relief. It was beyond him how insensitive people could be. All they had to do was put themselves in his situation. He doubted they'd want someone asking them those kinds of things.

He took a calming breath… and realized he was holding Mr. Wayne's hand. He vaguely remembered grabbing it when the first question about his parents had been asked.

Dick quickly let go. He could feel his cheeks coloring as he looked down. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Mr. Wayne just smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he said loud enough for only Dick to hear, "I'll introduce you to a few of the 'good' people."

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Next chapter Dick runs into some trouble at the party (surprise surprsie). Plus Commissioner Gordon makes an appearance. Sorry, no Barbara.


	12. Chapter 12: Meeting the Commissioner

Disclaimer: Not mine.

So many faves and reviews. You guys are probably sick of seeing 'Thank you'... so Va multumesc (thank you in Romanian). Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 12: Meeting the Commissioner

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Dick had never been what you'd call 'shy'. He was used to running around the circus grounds, among the crowds. Walking on his hands, cart wheeling at random, beaming at people he'd never met and would probably never see again. He'd performed in the Big Top, flying through the air with thousands of eyes on him. He'd never cared. Barely even noticed.

But as he walked through the lobby of the fancy hotel the benefit was being held at, he felt small. Uncomfortable with attention for the first time in his life.

He glanced around at the people they passed. Narrowed eyes, raised eyebrows, studying gazes… there were a few small reassuring smiles from the more casually dressed. Those were probably the police officers. Mr. Wayne had been right. There weren't as many of them as the 'rich and famous'. He also noticed a few kids, both older and younger, in small clusters about the room. But they seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact with him.

Dick frowned and moved his gaze to the floor, keeping Mr. Wayne's shoes in his line of sight. He could feel the eyes move away from his direction and almost sighed with relief. They were probably talking about him now, but as long as he couldn't hear what they were saying he didn't really care.

He glanced up again when he noticed Mr. Wayne speed up slightly. The billionaire was heading towards a more casually dressed man caught up in a conversation with one of the rich people. He was smiling and nodding, but Dick could tell from the way his eyes kept cutting to a table full of dessert what he would rather be doing.

Mr. Wayne had reached them now but Dick was still too far away to hear what they were saying. He noticed the rich man looked annoyed while the other guy looked relieved. The rich man walked away and Dick had to pause to step out of his way. He thought he heard the man mutter something like 'Stinking Wayne'.

Dick raised an eyebrow and started to walk over. Until he felt it.

He turned around and narrowed his eyes, studying every face. Someone had been staring at him. More intently than anyone else had. Almost threateningly. Dick couldn't really describe it. It had felt… familiar somehow.

He could still feel it, giving him chills. But there didn't seem to be anyone looking at him now. Weird…

"Dick?" Mr. Wayne's voice drew his attention. The billionaire was waving him over to meet the other man. He glanced over his shoulder once more, still suspicious, and joined them.

"Jim," Mr. Wayne started by addressing the other man, "I'd like you to meet Richard Grayson… I know you've heard of him." 'Jim' nodded with an easy smile. Dick tilted his head slightly as he studied him. It was the man from the TV… the one that the reporter had talked to about Tony Zucco.

"Dick," Mr. Wayne put a hand on his shoulder, "This is James Gordon. He's the Police Commissioner."

"It's nice to meet you," Dick said politely. He could tell Mr. Gordon really was one of the 'good' people, like Mr. Wayne had said.

"Nice to meet you too," the Commissioner smiled. He glanced at Mr. Wayne, "Bruce hasn't been treating you too bad, has he?"

Dick shook his head adamantly, completely missing the teasing tone in Mr. Gordon's voice. He didn't want Mr. Wayne to get in trouble with the police, "No, sir. He's very nice. He hasn't hurt me or anything."

Both men were amused by the serious expression on the boy's face, but they tried to hide it. "Of course he hasn't," Mr. Gordon said in the most serious voice he could manage, "It's just an expression, so to speak. It's another way of asking how you're adjusting."

"Oh," Dick said sounding relieved. Why hadn't he just said that in the first place? Adults were so confusing sometimes. "I'm doing okay I guess. It's just… different."

Mr. Gordon nodded in understanding. He paused and studied Dick thoughtfully as though debating whether or not he should say anything else. Finally he asked, "And how are you after that attack last week?"

Dick shrugged but shifted uncomfortably, "Fine." He looked up and tilted his head, "Is this what they call a… declaratie?"

"A statement," Mr. Wayne interpreted at Mr. Gordon's confused face.

"Ah," he nodded and gave the billionaire a slightly annoyed look. "We did try to get a statement the day after it happened. But…"

"Let me guess," Mr. Wayne said, "Alfred?"

The Commissioner nodded, "Alfred." He looked back at Dick and smiled, "But don't worry… he told us everything you said." He and Mr. Wayne exchanged a meaningful look before he continued, "That 'evening tour' line you heard could be very helpful to the investigation."

"Really?" Dick asked curiously. He couldn't help but smile softly. Even if he hadn't seen the guy, he was helping them catch him.

"Yeah," Mr. Gordon assured him, "In fact, we have a suspect. We just need something to incriminate him."

Dick wrinkled his nose, "Incriminate?" he sounded it out slowly.

"Prove he did it," the commissioner elaborated.

"Oh," Dick said again, "How long do you think that will take?"

"Mmm… hard to say. But you know, I have a feeling we'll catch a break in this case very soon," he said mysteriously. He winked at Dick, much to the boy's confusion, and then he and Mr. Wayne started talking about something called 'politics'.

Dick tried to be still and quiet, he didn't want to disturb them. But it didn't take long for him to get bored. After fifteen minutes he started shifting from foot to foot and absently looking around the room.

When everything had happened… his parents' murders, leaving the circus, Juvenile Hall; Dick had gone into a depressed state. It had been easy not to move then. It had been easy not to do anything.

He'd been slowly recovering at Wayne Manor, though. True, he still wasn't the same energetic eight-year-old acrobat. But he was still Dick Grayson. And according to his parents, Dick Grayson was built to fly. He was their 'little robin'. Nothing could ground him for long.

He remembered when he'd first started practicing with his parents on the trapeze. It had been just a few weeks before his fifth birthday. He'd been so excited, jumping and flipping all around the fairgrounds. Eagerly telling everyone he came across that 'Astazi este ziua!' (Today is the day!) By the time they were ready to get started he'd completely worn himself out.

But he'd still gone up, much to his parents' amusement. He didn't even care that he fell into the net every single time. His father had had to carry him back to the trailer. Just before he'd closed his eyes, he'd heard his mother joking that sleep was the only thing that could keep him in one place for more than five seconds.

He wasn't about to flip and cart wheel around the police benefit, but… maybe just a bit of the old, restless Dick Grayson was coming back.

He sighed and looked around for some excuse to leave Mr. Wayne and Mr. Gordon alone with their conversation. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at a small table across the room. There was a big bowl on it with some kind of drink. A kid maybe three years older than him walked up to it and poured a cup for herself. Perfect…

"Mr. Wayne?" he interrupted cautiously.

"Yes?" Thankfully he didn't sound annoyed. In fact, it was almost as though he were waiting for it.

"Would you mind if I went to get a drink?" he asked pointing at the table.

The billionaire glanced in that direction, "I suppose it would be alright."

"Thank you." He was out of there before he had time to notice Mr. Wayne and the Commissioner look at each other and nod.

Dick did look back when he got to the table, however, and frowned. He couldn't see them anymore. He narrowed his eyes but shrugged it off. He poured a cup and turned…

Right into someone else. He dropped his drink, splattering it all over the floor and the guy's pant legs.

"Oh!" he said in surprise as he bent to pick up the cup, "Sorry. I didn't know anyone was there."

"No problem, kid."

Dick froze. His heart beat against his chest and his breathing got a little faster. He swallowed and slowly looked up. Standing there in a cheap suit was a young man, maybe in his middle twenties. Sandy hair, muscular build, cold brown eyes. Dick had never seen him before… but he knew that voice.

The man who'd tried to kill him gave him a chilling smile. "It's no problem at all," he repeated, "Anymore…"

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Don't you just hate cliffhangers? :D Sorry 'bout that (not really) but I couldn't put everything in this chapter without it getting too long. Guess you'll just have to wait till tomorrow to find out what happens.


	13. Chapter 13: How to Crash a Benefit

Disclaimer: Do not own.

Okay, not everyone was happy with the cliffy though I can't understand why (jk). So I've decided to update now before I get too busy vacuuming and dusting the house, doing all the laundry, ironing, dishes... yeah you get the idea. The only upside to all that cleaning is that I get to hold off doing Intergrated Algebra for another day (I've never cared for math but I hate this subject _with a passion_). Oh, and for Emberflames7... I really really hope you didn't kill yourself last night. Not only would that totally suck for you, but you wouldn't be able to find out what happens next. ;P

Chapter 13: How to Crash a Benefit without Even Trying

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Dick just stared for a moment. He was too shocked to move. Of all the places this guy could try to get at him, a 'police benefit' should've been at the bottom of the list. All of these witnesses? some of which were probably carrying concealed weapons?

Dick shook those thoughts out of his head as the man reached for his arm. He threw the cup, not much of a distraction but it was all he had, and ran back the way he'd come.

"Mr. Wayne!" he called, drawing some attention, "Mr. Wayne! H-!"

The guy had caught up to him. Dick was lifted off of the ground, arms pinned to his side, feet kicking as he tried to get away. Like the first time, the man had clamped his hand down on the boy's mouth; all that could be heard were incoherent mumbles.

"Sorry about that," the man said acting embarrassed, "Nephew. Has a report on Bruce Wayne due Monday. I thought I told you that Mr. Wayne is a very busy man," he pretended to scold Dick; "You'll have to finish without bugging him."

Dick shook his head, trying to free his mouth, and looked around for someone to help him. Preferably one of the cops…

But there didn't seem to be any in sight. The rich people had already turned back to their conversations in disinterest. How did none of them recognize him as Richard Grayson? They'd all been staring at him when he first came in! Now they didn't even spare a second glance?

The man had moved to the edge of the crowd and to walk along the wall, easily avoiding the other guests. Dick was yelling from behind the guy's hand and kicking out to try to attract attention, but people barely looked up. And the one's that did would turn away as soon as the man called out his lame excuse. It seemed that all of the police officers had just vanished.

Maybe it was because he knew what was happening, but Dick thought it should've been pretty obvious to these people that they were witnessing a kidnapping. For one thing, he was pretty sure the panic he was feeling was clearly written on his face. And besides that, what kind of 'uncle' would gag their 'nephew' and try to drag him to a back exit?

A back exit that was getting closer…

Dick could guess that it led to a dark alley. If the man had been planning this, and Dick was sure that was who'd been watching him before, then odds were he had a car waiting. If they made it to the door the man could slip away without any trouble. Mr. Wayne might think he had just found a chair to sit on until the party ended. No one would know he was missing for two whole hours… he wouldn't even have twenty minutes if they made it out that door. And he didn't think Batman would be crashing in to save him this time.

So he'd just have to save himself.

He took a deep breath. _Like the trapeze_, he told himself. If you didn't have a calm head and precise timing you were going to fall into the net. He needed to focus. He was good at coming up with routines off the top of his head. It was one of the things he had enjoyed doing before he'd joined his parents' act. While they were practicing, he would be off in some other area of the fairgrounds. It didn't really matter where, he'd use anything nearby as springboards and handholds. He would just imagine in his head what the routine would look like and then perform it over and over until his parents were finished and he could show them. This couldn't be much different...

Except for the fact that he would only have one shot at it.

They were about twenty feet from the door. That didn't give him a lot of time. But he had to try.

He scanned the room to see what he had to work with. Not much. He quickly ran different scenarios through his mind trying to figure out which one would help him the most.

He came to the conclusion that nothing would help him get out of the man's hold, but if he could just free one arm…

Ten feet away from the door and he finally saw an opportunity. A woman holding a glass of champagne was trying to scoot by two elderly gentleman at the edge of the crowd. That brought her within range.

Dick twisted his body and kicked out as though to hit her. His kidnapper quickly turned away, he didn't have time to deal with an irritated party guest. That was just what Dick needed.

He braced his feet firmly on the wall they were now facing and pushed off with all of his might. He may have been a skinny eight year old, but he'd caught the man by surprise. And, as he had thrown his weight back to add force, the boy had also caught him off balance.

The criminal stumbled backwards, right into the woman. Her champagne spilled and she shrieked indignantly. "You idiot!" she screamed angrily, "Do you know how much this dress cost me?!"

"I am so sorry…" The man was truly flustered as he tried to apologize and calm the woman down.

In his moment of distraction, the arm holding Dick to his chest had loosened slightly. Just what Dick had been hoping for.

He squirmed a bit, eyebrows furrowed in determination. He managed to worm one of his arms free. Without hesitation, he grabbed the man's hand and ripped it away from his mouth.

"Bruce!" he yelled desperately, cutting off the woman's rant about dry cleaning. "Bruce, help!"

Every eye in the room turned to him in surprise. Even his kidnapper was too shocked to shut him up as he continued to call for the billionaire.

The exit door was thrown open from the outside and two of the cops that had gone missing from the party rushed in with guns drawn. The rich people started parting in confusion as other officers were hurrying over. Then the Commissioner was pushing people out of the way followed closely by…

"Bruce!" Dick said, relief clear in his voice.

"C-commissioner," the man stuttered in surprise. "I-I was just... the boy was causing a disturbance and-"

"No!" Dick interrupted trying to pull his other arm free, "I wasn't, I swear! Bruce, it's the guy... the one who tried to kill me!" Many eyes widened at that, but Bruce's just narrowed. He didn't seem surprised at all.

The man gave a short nervous laugh and shifted slightly, "Kids, huh? Always making up stories to get out of-"

"Save it," the Commissioner said coldly, "We know exactly what you were trying to do. Just let the boy go... make this easier on everyone."

The kidnapper glanced around and seemed to weigh his options. Then his eyes narrowed stubbornly and he pulled out a knife, like the one he'd tried to use that night. He tightened his grip on Dick and backed into the wall.

"I wouldn't do that," Commissioner Gordon warned with a hint of a sigh.

The guy scoffed, "I let him go, I go straight to jail. But now... you try to stop me from leaving, I could cut him open in two seconds."

"Not a very bright idea," Bruce stepped forward, a threatening tone to his voice, "since there are about fifteen guns trained on you at this moment, all possible exits are covered… and if you try to do _anything _to hurt that boy, you'll be dropped one second before you can carry through on your threat." The whole room seemed to be holding their breaths at his words.

…

The man lowered the knife and let his hostage drop to the floor. Dick quickly dashed to the billionaire's side, out of range if the man suddenly changed his mind about going quietly. He took a deep breath and put a hand on his chest, as though to calm his heart.

Bruce glanced at the Commissioner who gave him a small nod. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and started to gently lead him out of the room as the criminal was being handcuffed.

"Why don't we go somewhere quieter?" he suggested softly, "I think I should explain a few things."

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Yes! Finally I can stop typing Mr. Wayne (that one doesn't count) all of the time! And yes, Bruce does have a bit of explaining to do. But I'm just gonna skip that conversation... ... ... Ha! Gotcha (probably not)! Just kidding. There are too many questions to be answered for me to skip it. Anyway, hope you liked.


	14. Chapter 14: Explanations

Disclaimer: Just borrowing.

Chapter 14: Explanations

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Dick stared at the swirling designs on the carpet of the hotel's office. He was sitting in one of the plush visitor's chairs, kicking his legs back and forth. Bruce was on the other side of the room getting a cup of water from the cooler for him. Though Dick suspected the man was just buying some time to put the things he needed to 'explain' into words.

There_ were_ a few things that didn't really add up about the whole situation. Dick had noticed them subconsciously even when he'd been working out his plan for escape. It had started in the car, he decided. When he'd been talking to Bruce about what people thought of them.

Dick remembered trying to cheer him up, but even then Bruce had still been upset about something. Now that he was really thinking about it, Dick thought the billionaire had looked… vaguely guilty.

And when they'd walked in, everyone had been studying him critically. Except for the cops. They'd all given him reassuring smiles. _Reassuring of what?_ he thought, brow furrowed. Maybe he was just being too suspicious with that observation… it was possible they'd noticed his discomfort and were simply being nice.

But then there were the strange looks Bruce and Mr. Gordon had been exchanging earlier; the meaningful wink from the Commissioner. And the way they had seemed to be waiting for him to get bored and leave. 'Politics' struck Dick as one of those conversations no one was particularly interested in but talked about to pass the time. Like the weather or what one had had for lunch that day. Things you talked about with an acquaintance, not a good friend.

And it was obvious, to Dick at least, that Mr. Gordon and Bruce were close. Shouldn't they have been talking about something more personal? Their jobs, families? What kind of things had happened in their lives since the last time they'd seen each other?

Dick probably would've found a conversation like that more interesting. He would've stayed with them. It was almost like they were _trying_ to get rid of him. They had purposely chosen a boring topic so he would get restless and leave. _But why?_

Then, of course, there was that moment when the guy had grabbed him and he realized all of the police officers had mysteriously disappeared.

Dick sighed and slumped further into the chair, frustrated. He felt like he had all of the pieces of the puzzle that he needed… but he didn't know how they fit together.

"Dick?" He looked up, Bruce had finally left the water cooler and was now offering him a cup.

"Thanks," Dick said gratefully. He hadn't realized how dry his mouth was. Yelling could do that to a person, though.

Bruce nodded and pulled the other visitor's chair closer to Dick's before sitting down. "Are you alright?"

Dick took a thoughtful sip. "I guess so, but…" he sighed and stared into his cup. His emotions had been pretty jumbled when the guy had grabbed him. The two that stood out the most were irritation that no one had seemed to notice his predicament, and determination to _make _someone notice. But now that he was out of danger…

Dick didn't want to admit how scared he'd been. How scared he still was. Only now it wasn't fear of the man himself, but rather what could have happened. What the man had intended for him. Dick's mother had always said he had a wild imagination; and at the moment it was running like crazy. He couldn't help but shudder at some of the mental images.

"So…" Dick shifted in his seat, "what happened out there?"

Bruce didn't seem to care that Dick had changed the subject without giving him a straight answer. He pursed his lips and studied the swirls of the carpet, as the boy had earlier.

Finally, just when Dick was about to ask again, he sighed, "Do you remember the day after it happened?" he started, "How the story was released to the press? And we didn't know how they found out?" Dick just nodded, finding it easier to listen then to try and piece the puzzle together by himself.

"Well," Bruce continued, "Commissioner Gordon was the one that told them."

Dick frowned and couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

The billionaire shifted into a more comfortable position. No telling how long this would take. "The Commissioner had a suspicion about the man who attacked you. A suspicion he confirmed after hearing what you told us about the conversation you overheard. You see, he didn't understand how the man had gotten out of Batman's handcuffs… that's something that has never happened before."

"Okay," Dick said slowly confusion evident on his face, "So this guy did somehow. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," Bruce insisted, "No one, not even this man, has ever freed themselves from Batman's cuffs." This was doing nothing to clear it up for the boy. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped at the 'think about it' look on Bruce's face.

Dick sighed in annoyance but complied. Okay, so no person ever freed themselves from the cuffs. So, he'd have to have help? Unlikely considering his 'help' was busy being knocked on his rear by an old man. Batman certainly wouldn't have gone back to free him. And Dick had cleared out of there as soon as he got the chance. Who did that leave? … Only the police officer that had been attacked. Had he taken off the restraints to use his own handcuffs? Dick shook his head. That would've been pointless and stupid. Unless…

His eyes widened in realization, "He was the officer that was 'attacked'?"

Bruce nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "When the other policemen reached him, he claimed to have been the first responder. That the man responsible had taken him by surprise, knocked him out, and cuffed him. All they had to go off of was his word. You were the only real witness."

Dick's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, "I understand that… but what does it have to do with leasing the story?"

"_Re_leasing," Bruce corrected trying not to smile.

"Oh," Dick said looking thoughtful.

"After Commissioner Gordon heard about the 'evening tour' comment, he knew your attacker was a policeman," he could see the question coming before the boy even opened his mouth, "A tour is another word for when officers patrol the streets." Dick nodded and the man continued, "I called the Commissioner right after I heard the story. He'd released it hoping to… set a trap of sorts. So we set up this benefit-"

"And you asked me to come," Dick said as he was starting to see the picture. "The man thought I saw his face. And he knew that the police hadn't spoken to me yet?"

Bruce nodded solemnly, "The Commissioner spread a rumor that you had gotten a good look at the man, that you could give a description to a sketch artist. He said that you'd caught a mild case of pneumonia from the rain, but you'd be well enough to come to the benefit. The next day they would talk to you about this case and then put you into Witness Protection."

"Witness Protection?" Dick asked in surprise, "Wouldn't that be s-spicious?"

"Suspicious," Bruce replied automatically. He wasn't amused this time, he looked uncomfortable, "There was another rumor started. One that said you'd been threatened…" His voice trailed off, but Bruce didn't need to say the name for the boy to know who the 'threat' had supposedly come from.

"So, he had to get me tonight," Dick said choosing to ignore the reference to his parents' murderer, "Or he thought he'd be caught." Bruce nodded, "And all the cops left to make sure he couldn't get out any of the doors. And you and Mr. Gordon talked about 'politics' because you knew I would get bored. And you needed it to look like I was alone. I was… momeala?" (bait) Dick finished tilting his head curiously.

Bruce winced and nodded, looking guilty. "I'm sorry I didn't explain any of it to you. It _was _the Commissioner's idea… but I still should've said something."

"Why?" Dick asked innocently.

The question took Bruce by surprise, "You aren't upset about being used as bait?"

"Of course not," Dick said as though it were the silliest thing he'd ever heard. "It wouldn't have worked if you told me," he explained, "I would've known what was going to happen. I wouldn't have been as surprised to see him there… he could've figured it out."

Bruce still looked doubtful.

"Besides," Dick reassured him, "I know you were there the whole time now. You wouldn't have let anything happen to me." His eyes suddenly lit up with a glimmer of excitement that hadn't been there in almost two months, "_And _I helped catch a criminal."

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. "We couldn't have done it without you," he said as he stood. Dick smiled, his cheeks coloring slightly. "Why don't we skip out on the rest of this party and head home?" the billionaire suggested.

Dick nodded and jumped out of his chair. As he followed Bruce through the hall to a side exit he frowned. "Bruce?" he said after a minute.

"Yes?"

"In English, putting 're' in front of a word means to do something again, right?" he asked curiously.

"More or less," Bruce raised an eyebrow, looking down at the boy.

Dick's forehead furrowed in concentration, "Then how could they 'release' the story if that was the first time anyone heard it?"

"Uh, that's..." Bruce frowned, at a loss for words. How was he supposed to explain this? He'd never even thought about it before. Finally he settled for saying, "Lease and relaease aren't exactly the same thing... they have different meanings."

"Oh," Dick tilted his head, still looking thoughtful, "Release means letting something go?"

Bruce shrugged and nodded, "Pretty much."

"So..." Dick said slowly, "lease must mean that you _don't _let it go..."

Bruce could only sigh.

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Who didn't see that coming? ;P Sorry, but I couldn't resist putting in Robin's word-play. Well that's 14 for ya. I kind of struggled with it all day (why do the creative juices only flow when I know I have to sleep?) but wonderful reviews from you guys kept me inspired… so credit goes to you! Also I guess I should just say this now... I will try my very hardest to write chapter fifteen today. I swear (crosses heart)! Buuuuuut, if I don't and I accidently miss a day know that I have an excellent excuse (in my opinion). I am a die-hard Percy Jackson fan (and no I'm not ashamed), and as any other fans would know Mark of Athena comes out today! (taps chin thoughtfully) You know it might be a good idea to pace myself with that so I don't just rush through it in a day and a half (or less). Okay, I'll try to keep the daily update. Just don't have a cow if I miss _one _day. Long a/n I know, but like I said… creative juices when I need to sleep (ugh!).


	15. Chapter 15: Seeking Comfort

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 15: Seeking Comfort…

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When Dick opened his eyes, he was very confused.

He remembered making it back to Wayne Manor with Bruce and finding Alfred in the closest living room. Dick had been surprised to see him sitting on the couch, reading a book. It wasn't really shocking that the older man liked to read, it was just that Dick had never seen him do anything but cook or clean.

Alfred had been surprised too, though. He hadn't expected them back so early… maybe he would've been cleaning if there'd been more warning. And then he'd asked if something had happened at the benefit.

Of course, Dick being in the hyper phase of tiredness had quickly told the butler everything as clearly as any eight year old could. Basically it was a jumbled mess of English and Romani, only a few words making any real sense. Not to mention the various times when the boy would interrupt his own story to ask about certain words and why they were said the way they were.

But Alfred had gotten the general idea. The man from the cemetery was a 'dirty cop', as Dick had heard someone describe, who'd tried to kidnap him with the intent to kill. He'd semi-freed himself, the police had come in, the man was taken to jail… and the whole thing had been a trap rigged by Bruce and Commissioner Gordon.

Unfortunately for Bruce, Alfred apparently hadn't known about the plan. He'd stared at the billionaire the whole time with a glare that was both cross and disapproving. It seemed to say 'You may be an adult now, but I can still remember how to give a good, old-fashioned, butt whooping'. Bruce had wisely avoided Alfred's gaze and kept his mouth shut.

By the time Dick had finished the story, he was suppressing yawns and struggling to keep his eyes open. He hadn't noticed Alfred's mood or the irritated tone in his voice when he'd politely ordered Dick to brush his teeth, get in his pajamas, and go straight to bed.

The excitement had drained Dick so completely that he almost had to literally drag himself through the preparations for bed. The last thing he remembered had been turning off the lamp on his nightstand. Then…

He frowned as he took in his surroundings.

He wasn't in his bed or his bedroom. He didn't think he was in the Manor anymore either. He was lying flat on his back on a carpeted floor decorated with swirls. The hotel where they held the benefit!

But how had he ended up here? He thought for a moment that he'd fallen asleep at the party and imagined _everything_; until he noticed how dark the room was… and empty. There was no one in the room except for him. No rich people, no cops, no hotel employees or janitors cleaning up. All around there was nothing but an unnerving silence.

Dick carefully got to his feet and looked down. Still wearing his pajamas. He tilted his head in thought. Sleep-walking was _not _an option. Not only would his muscles have been killing him after walking a distance that took nearly an hour by car, but he was sure _somebody_ would have noticed a bare-foot kid walking around Gotham at night.

So had someone brought him here?

He looked around the shadowy room and called in a cautious whisper, "Bruce? Alfred?" He didn't see why they would bring him here. But he really hoped it _was _them. If not, then…

Dick wrapped his arms around his body as though to protect himself and called again. "Hello? … Is someone else here?" For a long time there was no answer. Dick could feel his heart rate quicken in apprehension. He'd never been a big fan of the dark. Especially when he was alone.

He'd had a bad experience at the circus when he was six. He'd accidentally locked himself inside the trunk of the clown car. It was pitch black in there and crowded and lonely. He'd been trapped for nearly five hours. More than once he'd felt things crawling up his legs or back… the clowns were never very concerned with cleanliness.

He shuddered at the memory and looked around for an exit. He finally saw one of the red signs, glowing faintly and walked as quickly as possible without running. Just as reached it, the door slammed shut making Dick jump in surprise. The sign flickered and died.

Dick's heart was really racing now. He tried the handle. Locked.

Then the laughing started.

A low, threatening chuckle that echoed throughout the room. Dick's breathing turned rapid and desperate as he tried to force the door open. It wouldn't budge. Footsteps were approaching from behind and Dick started banging on the door. No one seemed to hear.

There was no way out.

Dick turned and pressed his back against the door. In addition to being locked in, he had managed to get himself cornered. Just great…

A figure stood in the shadows a few feet in front of him, features unclear. It laughed again, definitely male. And, Dick thought, somewhat familiar. "Well, well, well," the man said in mock cheerfulness, "Look at what we have here. Last of the Flying Grayson's." He paused and Dick could feel the man studying him. "Rich little snot now, aren't you?"

Dick didn't answer. He couldn't seem to find his voice despite all the questions he wanted to ask. _Who are you? Why did you bring me here? What did you do to Bruce and Alfred? What do you want with me?_

"Doesn't matter how loaded you are, though," the man continued when Dick didn't say anything, "That's not why you're here."

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat. "W-why am I here?"

The man didn't say anything for a moment; Dick got the feeling he was smirking. "Unfinished business," he said stepping into view.

For a moment Dick forgot how to breathe. He could feel his body trembling with emotion; shock, terror, anger. "Zucco." It was barely a whisper but somehow the man heard it and gave a chilling smile.

"So you do remember me," he took another step toward the boy.

"You killed my parents!" Dick tried to sound defiant but his voice was shaky and his eyes were stinging.

"No point in denying it," Zucco sounded amused, "You saw me do it. Isn't that right?" Dick's chest constricted with guilt and he squeezed his eyes shut. In the back of his mind he could hear Bruce telling him it wasn't his fault; but the billionaire's words were quiet compared to all the voices saying it _was _his fault.

"Wasn't your fault, brat," Zucco said looking thoughtful, "Should've gone with poison or something. You were supposed to die with them. Rope snapped too soon…" the murderer shrugged, "Oh well, doesn't matter. You're here now. And I intend to finish what I started."

Before Dick could even react, Zucco had grabbed him by the arms and was yanking him across the room to the elevator. The second time in less than 24 hours he was being dragged to his death. Only this time there was nothing covering his mouth. Zucco didn't care that he was kicking and screaming. His hands were like iron, latched onto Dick's wrists, pinning them behind his back as he used his elbow to hit the button.

"No!" Dick was yelling as he tried in vain to pull away, "Please! Bruce! Help!" The doors opened and he struggled harder when he realized they were on the roof.

A strong wind blew his hair in every direction. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms as it chilled him to the bone. Then concrete roof was rough against his feet as Zucco pulled him to the edge of the roof.

"No! Stop! Please, stop!" Dick begged, tears spilling from his eyes. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to fall like them.

Zucco smirked and sat the boy on the ledge. "Think of it this way," he said, an amused glint in his eyes, "You get to be just like your parents. Just what all children dream of!"

Without another word, Zucco pushed him over the edge… a fifteen story drop.

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Dick woke up screaming, feeling like he was falling. His breath came out in short gasps. His heart seemed to be trying to beat right out of his chest. Tears were still falling from his eyes.

He looked around the bedroom hoping it would reassure him. He was still alive. It had all been a dream. A nightmare...

But the room was dark. Dark and empty, and Dick couldn't stop the panic that rose inside. Zucco could be in the shadows. Waiting for him… waiting to throw him off the balcony.

Dick clutched Peanut to his chest, but the animal did nothing to ease his irrational fears. He needed a person. He needed reassurance. A comforting hand, a calm voice…

The shadows seemed to move.

Dick threw off the covers and ran out of his room as though Tony Zucco really was chasing him. He found himself in front of Bruce's room first. It was all he could do to keep from just throwing open the door; but he forced himself to stop, take a shaky breath, and knock.

When no answer came after the third time knocking, Dick started to become anxious again. He bit his lip and cautiously eased the door open. "Bruce?" he said in a small voice.

Nothing. Not even the rustling of sheets. Dick pushed the door a little wider and squinted at the bed. Empty.

That meant Bruce was still awake. At least Dick wouldn't have disturbed his sleep. But where was he?

Dick gently closed the door and glanced around the hall. He didn't know what to do. He had a feeling Bruce would be in the little study at the end of the hall, but he was nervous about going in there. Bruce must've had a reason for keeping it locked most of the time.

Then again, Dick didn't know where Alfred's room was. The butler was probably sleeping anyway, and Dick didn't want to be a nuisance. But he knew he couldn't possibly go back to sleep now. He couldn't handle being alone after that dream. And if Bruce was already awake...

Dick squeezed Peanut tighter and made his way to the study, hoping Bruce wouldn't be too upset.

When he reached the door he frowned. There was no light coming from underneath. How could Bruce see to do his paperwork? Unless he was on his computer? Dick flinched as a creaking noise sounded above his head. He tried to tell himself that it was just a draft, but he was too freaked to believe it was anything but Tony Zucco coming to 'finish' him. He knocked on the door and waited.

Just like with Bruce's bedroom, there was no sound coming from the study.

_No_, Dick thought shaking his head, _he's here. Where else would he be? _He knocked again.

A scratching sound cam from the window three feet to the right of him... just a tree branch. Dick tried the knob and didn't know if he was more shocked, anxious, or relieved when he discovered it was unlocked.

He quickly opened the door and went inside, closing it behind him. The study wasn't anything special. Bookcases, a small lounge area, a desk, a fireplace, a large grandfather clock... but no Bruce.

Dick had been so sure he'd be here. How was he supposed to find the billionaire now? Wayne Manor was huge. He could get lost for days if he went searching for the man.

Dick's heart dropped at the thought of going back to his room. He would probably end up under his bed, arms curled around his legs, for the rest of the night. Waiting for morning. He didn't want to do that. But what other choice did he have?

He turned to leave...

And then the grandfather clock started moving.

Dick's eyes widened and he looked around the room for a place to hide. As the clock opened outwards, he ran across the room and crawled under the desk. Not a moment too soon.

Someone stepped out of the opening, a faint sound of rattling metal came with them. Dick held his breath as something was set on the desk and the figure turned back to close the clock. There was a small thump and a clicking sound. Then the person grabbed the item from the desk and swiftly left the room.

Dick let a sigh escape his mouth and peeked around the edge of his hiding spot. No one in sight.

He glanced at the door for a moment and then decided to check out the clock. How did it open? Did it have to be set to a certain time? Was there a hidden lever or something?

Dick ran a hand along the smooth wood and studied it thoughtfully. The time seemed to be correct, but something was slightly off about it. Dick tilted his head as he watched the hand tick by, counting the seconds. Ticking...

That was it! The ticking of the hand wasn't right. It didn't match up with the swinging of the pendulum in the glass case. It wasn't a huge difference, but it was enough. And if the clock's face hadn't been tampered with, then that meant the trigger was the pendulum.

Carefully, Dick opened the small glass door and reached inside. He hesitated. What if he was wrong and he broke the clock? He could get into a lot of trouble.

He pulled the pendulum anyway.

There was a click and he backed up as the clock swung open, revealing a flat metal platform. An elevator. Dick looked at the door to the study once more. He could walk away now. He had no idea what he could be getting himself into. He could close the clock now and avoid any trouble he might get into.

He was too curious. He knew he was. But if he didn't find out what was behind that clock he knew it would drive him crazy... maybe for years to come. He had to know.

Dick quickly hid Peanut back under the desk and exhaled slowly. Then he stepped through the wall, the clock closed with a soft click, and the elevator started its descension into the unknown.

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Okay, so it was more than _one _day. Sorry. I finished Mark of Athena Thursday, but I couldn't write Friday morning… so I stayed up till like 2:53 writing this chapter. Good thing it's Saturday! Anyway, hope you liked this chapter. I was considering ending it with Zucco throwing him off the roof, but then you guys would _probably_ have hated me and it would've been way too short. (p.s.) Mark of Athena was awesome! (sigh) Another year to find out what happens next… (mutters) 'cliffhangers'.


	16. Chapter 16: Discovering Secrets

Disclaimer: Don't own.

SORRY! (bangs head with water bottle as self inflicted punishment) I really, honestly, truly meant to update Sunday; but I had church and then my uncles decided to have lunch with us at my grandparent's house… usually that only happens on one of their birthdays or holidays. And yesterday was just SOOOO… hectic. At one point in the day I had to run to the bathroom crying my eyes out (my hands still smell vaguely like onions, lol). Very. Long. Day. Anyway, sorry again. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 16: … Discovering Secrets

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Dick didn't really know what he was expecting to find. Maybe one of those fancy cellars where people kept expensive dusty bottles that they never drank. Or it could've led to some kind of vault. Bruce was a billionaire after all; he might like to keep money in the Manor for emergencies. It could have been anything…

On the way down, Dick felt his heart beat a little faster with apprehension. Something he hadn't considered was that someone could be down here. He'd already gotten into enough trouble for hearing something he shouldn't have… what if he got caught and had to run for it? There were no visible buttons on the elevator. Would it just go back up when he stood on it?

The elevator stopped.

Well, he decided, it was too late to do anything now. He'd just have to improvise if something happened.

Dick took a deep breath and stepped out onto a metal surface, cold against his bare feet. But the temperature barely registered when he saw where he was. He felt his eyes widen and his mouth dropped open in shock. Definitely not a cellar for dusty bottles.

A cave. Dick was in a cave.

He felt like he'd entered a completely different world. Was he underneath Wayne Manor? If so it was a miracle the mansion hadn't fallen through the ground ages ago. The cave was so enormous it made Pop Haley's Big Top look like a wigwam. Dick couldn't even tell how high the ceiling went. It was covered in shadows, naturally formed holes, and a few steel support beams. They must have been installed as a precaution, to prevent a cave-in.

A good idea too. It would probably take months to clear out any collapsed rubble. Not to mention the damage it would do to the contents of the cave...

It was then that Dick became aware of the strange fluttering, screeching noises that echoed through the vast space. He frowned and tilted his head slightly to listen. It was hard to pinpoint the sounds exactly. It sounded like an animal. No. A _lot _of animals, flying around in clusters.

Dick looked up again and squinted. This time he could just make out the vague outlines of the creatures as they hung from the ceiling or moved to the opposite end of the cave, maybe the exit.

Dick had never seen one before, at least not a real one; but he was positive they were bats.

Normally Dick would have been fascinated watching them. He probably would have been trying to figure out some way to get up there so he could study one more closely. He'd always had a special interest in animals that could fly. He supposed it came from his parents' calling him their 'little robin'. He was just naturally curious about how they did it.

But at the moment Dick studied them only as long as it took to identify what they were. Most of his attention was being drawn to the cave's more _unnatural _features.

There were numerous metal catwalks and a few sets of stairs; one seemed to lead to a lower section of the cave. Dick could just make out a bulky motorcycle and what looked like the wing of a small plane. Worktables were bunched together in another area, covered with projects that still seemed to be under construction. There was also one of those boards where people usually hang tools set up beside a glass case with a bare mannequin inside; but it was sleeker in design and the tools were like nothing he'd ever seen.

Then there was the dinosaur. It was set to the side with a bunch of other things. Big, small. Mechanical, organic. Everyday household items that had been modified, enlarged, or stuck together like one of those modern art sculptures.

Dick had thought the bearded lady's collection of scissors and razors was weird; she never used them so what was the purpose? Then there was Grout, one of the clowns; he had collected 'nose-themed art' for as long as Dick could remember. And who could forget Ajax, the strongman's, collection of unique pressed flowers? Dick had accidentally knocked over the personal scrapbook where he kept them all. No one had let him live _that _down.

But this… this was by far the craziest collection he'd ever seen.

And there were other rooms too. But all of the doors were closed and Dick doubted he had time to check out all of them.

Oddly enough, the last thing to draw his attention was without a doubt the _biggest _thing in the room.

Dick had only seen two computers in his lifetime. Being raised in the circus, he spent most of his time outside, traveling, or practicing routines; but he had played a few games of virtual chess on Pop Haley's laptop when everyone else was too busy and he was bored. Pop mostly used the computer to keep records and show schedules, but not much else. And then there was the computer that Bruce had, to check on his company when he was at home.

This computer though…

It reminded Dick of the screens at the movie theatre his dad had taken him to last Father's day. That's how big it was. In fact, that's what Dick thought it was at first glance. But then he saw the one tall, leather chair set up in front of a glowing keyboard.

Dick took a few cautious steps forward and wondered if he was still dreaming. It didn't seem possible for all of this to be under Wayne Manor. How long had it taken to set everything up? And what was it for anyway?

_Only way to find out is to look around_, Dick thought logically. But where to start?

He studied the area around him thoughtfully and decided to start with the worktables; they were closest. As he approached them he saw that blueprints, tools, and semi-built devices covered each one in a jumbled mess. There was hardly any clear space available. And though it looked like everything had just been thrown aside to work on with spare time, Dick was hesitant to touch anything. He'd found out the hard way that just because something looked disorganized, didn't necessarily mean it was.

Three years before, while his parents were discussing a list of new routines with Pop Haley, he had gone off looking for something interesting to do. He had come across Maxim, the knife thrower's practice area. The man had left the target set up and his equipment piled on a table, but he was nowhere in sight. Dick had always thought knife throwing would be a cool talent to learn; though, unfortunately, his mother had disagreed. In that moment though, he realized that no one was there to stop him, so he had done what anyone in his position would've done.

Out of the ten knives he threw, he only hit the target twice. It was a little disappointing, Maxim made it look so easy.

He was about to throw another when he heard the man heading in his direction, whistling a happy tune. Dick had basically scrambled to get the knives back to the table and hid behind the target. He thought for sure he would be in the clear.

Until he realized that Maxim's messy pile had a specific order. He was caught red-handed, and the knife thrower hadn't been too happy. Dick could still remember the scolding he'd received… and that horrible moment when Maxim had threatened to tell his parents. He would've been grounded from performing for a week. And so soon after starting. It had made him sad just thinking about it; which turned out to be a good thing.

As soon as Maxim saw Dick's miserable expression and watery blue eyes, he had known it was no good staying mad. It wasn't often that Dick was sad and he hardly ever cried. So when he did, it was like everyone was feeling what he was. Absolutely miserable.

In the end, Maxim had forgiven him and even offered to teach him the art of knife-throwing… never to be mentioned in front of Mary Grayson. Dick was pretty sure she figured it out on her own anyway. But he'd learned his lesson about asking before touching other people's things.

Dick shook his head and pulled himself out of the memory. He turned his attention back to the worktable. He decided he definitely shouldn't touch the projects when he noticed the complicated wiring and the lingering smell of smoke. No point in frying himself.

He did, however, take a peek at one of the blueprints. Really a peek… he had to stand on his tiptoes just to see part of it. It looked like a diagram for a small circular disk. Judging from the measurements listed on the side, it was supposed to be small enough to fit inside the palm of a hand… about the size of a dollar coin. It looked like a pretty complicated piece of technology. Especially since it was designed to explode. Whoever was working on it would have to reproduce it a lot if the quantity number was correct. And that was after they got it right the first time.

Dick lowered his heels and looked around again. The mannequin in the glass case caught his eye and he walked over to study it. It was definitely for an adult. A man. But there was nothing to indicate what had been on it before, so he turned to look at the tool board and frowned.

Up close he realized that they weren't tools; not the traditional kind anyway. No hammers. No screwdrivers. No nail gun.

They were weapons.

But they weren't traditional _weapons_ either. There was a gun, but it had strange hook things. There were grenades, but they were too small to cause a big explosion and were activated by pushing a button rather than pulling a pin. And there were knives, but…

Dick's eyes widened slightly and he carefully lifted one of the knives from its peg. He flipped it over in his hands and tilted his head. It was a strange, curved knife in the shape of an animal. A bat.

There was only one person who could possibly have a knife like this... unless Bruce was an obsessive fan. And Dick didn't think that was the case. So that could only mean one thing. Bruce was…

The loud roar of an engine filled the cave and Dick's head shot up. Two bright lights were cutting through the semi-darkness, getting closer to the parking area.

Dick stuck the knife back on its peg and quickly scanned the room for a place to hide. Anyone would be able to see him under the worktables. The elevator was too far away to get to without being seen. The mannequin case was see-through. That just left the bizarre collection items.

Dick ran over on light feet and darted behind a giant penny just as the noise cut off. He heard a door opening and closing, swift footsteps, and a humming sound that could have been the computer starting up.

He pressed his back against the penny and tried not to breathe too loud. How was he supposed to get out of here? He couldn't sneak out with the large open area between the penny and the exit. He had nothing to create a distraction. And he had just noticed the cool draft that had probably been breezing through the cave since he got there. That, added with the cold floor, bare feet, and sweat still on his face from the dream, was starting to make him shiver.

He had no idea how long Bruce would be on the computer, maybe hours. The longer he sat there, the harder it would be to keep his teeth from chattering. Just great.

"Still no sign of him, Alfred," Dick jumped slightly when Bruce spoke. He hadn't heard the elevator, but obviously the older gentleman had joined the billionaire at the computer. "But I may have found a clue. He has two brothers. One of them is in Gotham. Tomorrow I'll pay him a visit… see what he knows."

"Sir," Alfred didn't seem to have heard a word Bruce said. "I think you should see this."

"What?" There was a rustling sound, probably the cape, as Bruce turned. "Where did you find that?" he asked sounding confused.

"Study," Alfred replied promptly.

There was a pause. "And he's-"

"Not in his room, Master Bruce."

Dick froze when he realized they were talking about him. Alfred must have found Peanut and went to make sure he was still asleep. He almost groaned but he didn't want to give away his position. Not that it made any difference considering who he was trying to hide from.

"You're sure?" Alfred didn't say anything but Dick thought he probably nodded, because after a moment Bruce sighed. "Dick?" he called to the room at large.

Dick hesitated. They knew he was there, and he knew they would find him if he didn't go out there… but he was afraid that they'd be mad at him.

"Dick," Bruce said again, "please come out. You aren't in trouble, I promise."

Dick paused for a minute longer to contemplate. But there was really no way he could get out of this. He took a deep breath and slowly climbed to his feet. All he could think about as he quietly stepped from behind the penny was his first day at Wayne Manor. He remembered thinking that living here would be interesting. He wasn't thinking that now.

His guardian was the Batman… 'interesting' was a bit of an understatement.

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There (relieved sigh). I got a chapter up. Hope it makes up for the days I missed.


	17. Chapter 17: The Batman

Disclaimer: Just borrowing.

I would like to dedicate this chapter to my aunt, Wanda. It would have been her birthday today, but sadly she died of breast cancer almost twelve years ago. She was the sweetest person you could ever hope to meet and will always be my favorite aunt. And not just because she spoiled us horribly (she was the one who took us to Disney World for the first time). I wish she were still here. Thank you for the reviews.

Chapter 17: The Batman

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Dick supposed he should consider it a great achievement to sneak up on the Batman.

An eight year old had found the secret hideout. Uncovered his civilian identity. And now he had somehow managed to slip out of his hiding place without making a sound, walk over to where they were standing by the computer, and startle _the Batman_ by gently tugging on his cape. They hadn't even seen him.

But pride was the furthest thing from Dick's mind at the moment. Batman was standing in front of him, just as dark and intimidating as the first time; despite the fact that he was holding a plush, purple elephant. He hadn't taken his cowl off yet, and knowing it was Bruce underneath the mask didn't make him any less scary. With half of his face hidden, it was hard to tell anything by his expression.

Dick glanced at Alfred. It wasn't easy to tell what he was feeling either. Or rather _which_ he was feeling. It was as though he couldn't decide if he was more shocked that Dick had found the cave, uncomfortable because he'd been the one to show the way in, or worried about the boy being around so many weapons.

Dick looked down and waited for them to say something. No one spoke for a good five minutes. Maybe it was the fear of getting into trouble that made the silence so unbearable to Dick. He started fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. He swallowed, "You, uh… have a nice cave," he said softly. It was the first thing he could think of.

He peeked up at them without raising his head.

"Well," Alfred was the first to react, "I'll go make some hot chocolate." He gave Bruce a meaningful look and walked away, disappearing with the elevator. Dick stared at where he had been until he heard Bruce clear his throat.

He turned and saw the billionaire had pulled back the cowl and grabbed a chair from one of the worktables. He sat down in it and gestured to the fancy computer chair, "Would you like to sit down?" It wasn't exactly an order, but it wasn't really a question either. Dick had a feeling he was about to be… interrogated? The underlying tone in Bruce's voice clearly said, _You should get comfortable, this could take a while_.

He sighed and hopped into the chair, his feet dangling at least a foot off the ground. He looked at Bruce with raised eyebrows. And there it was again. An awkward silence.

Dick felt kind of bad for him. It probably wasn't often he was caught off guard while in costume. But now he was at a complete loss for words.

"So…" Dick was still nervous, but he figured if Bruce wasn't going to start the inevitable conversation he'd have to, "You're Batman." He frowned slightly; saying it out loud felt strange… and pretty obvious.

Bruce raised an eyebrow; he must've thought so too. Dick could feel his cheeks redden a bit, but thankfully the man just nodded. "I am," was all he could think to say.

Dick sighed again. Why was it so hard to have a simple conversation? … Well, it was a conversation about a billionaire who went to boring meetings by day and tossed criminals in jail by night, but still…

Dick watched his feet as he kicked them back and forth. Maybe the reason Bruce was having such a hard time was because he was trying to figure out the best way to scold him. His mother had done that all the time when he was bad. She'd send him to 'think about what he'd done' and give _herself_ time to think of the proper punishment. Her favorite were time-outs; he hated sitting still.

Whenever he was waiting for her to decide what to do, he never really thought about what had got him in trouble. Mostly he tried to think of ways to get out of it. Making her laugh was one way. He remembered the time he had bargained with her over a spanking. They'd made a deal; he would run past her real fast, and if she missed him he wouldn't be punished. His mother had been too amused to go through with it and had ended up laughing when he'd gone by, happily stating that she'd missed.

That wouldn't work with Bruce though. He caught criminals every night. No way would Dick be able to get past him as easily as he had his mother. But there was another thing that usually got him out of trouble when his mom wasn't in a laughing mood.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly glancing at the man in front of him.

Bruce studied him curiously, "What are you sorry for?"

Dick frowned and shrugged, "For being a… pest?" The guard at Juvenile Hall had called him that enough times for him to know what it meant. "You're mad at me for being down here, aren't you?" he asked. He was so certain this was the case that it sounded more like a statement.

Bruce sighed and shook his head, like he'd been expecting this reaction. "I'm not angry, Dick," he said to reassure the boy; but he didn't seem to buy it. "Really, I promise," he tried again, "I'm actually not surprised you found out."

Dick, though he still wasn't convinced he was out of trouble, couldn't help but look at the man strangely. "You aren't?" he asked skeptically. Bruce shook his head and Dick raised an eyebrow. "You look pretty surprised to me," he observed honestly.

Bruce couldn't help but smile a little. "I'm just surprised that you found it so quickly," he clarified, "I was estimating two months. But I guess I shouldn't be too surprised you found out sooner… you're a pretty smart kid."

Dick smiled a bit at the complement but shook his head, "I wouldn't have if I hadn't seen Alfred come out of the clock."

"Maybe," Bruce agreed looking thoughtful, "But if you were good enough to get past Alfred, it still counts." He leaned forward and offered Dick Peanut. "Just don't leave the evidence behind next time," he advised.

Dick smiled for real as he took his animal back. "Would you have known I was here if I hadn't left him?" he tilted his head.

"Mmm," Bruce looked around the room for a moment. His eyes narrowed briefly before he turned back to Dick, "Yes."

Dick frowned and scanned the room too. He didn't notice anything that would have given him away. "How?" he asked.

Bruce jerked a thumb to the weapon board, "One of the batarangs is upside down." He was right; the strange knife that Dick had taken down to examine was positioned differently than the others. Dick couldn't help but be impressed. How could anyone notice that in a two second room sweep? It was so small.

"How long have you been doing this?" he wondered.

"Long enough," Bruce said without really answering the question. He leaned back in his chair and pulled off his gloves, "I also trained for a long time before I started."

"How long did you train?"

The billionaire pursed his lips, "Seven years."

Dick's eyes widened, "Seven years?" he said in amazement, "That's almost my whole life!"

Bruce nodded, fighting an amused smile, "When you look at it that way it was a pretty long time, wasn't it?"

"It's a long time anyway you look at it," Dick said matter-of-factly.

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at that. He thought he heard the elevator descending, meaning Alfred would be there soon, and he studied Dick inquisitively. He knew it had to be well past three by now. That realization caused a question to form in his mind.

"Dick," he said seriously, "How _did _you find the entrance?"

Dick shrugged, "I went to check in the study and the clock started moving, so I hid under the desk."

Bruce had to refrain from sighing. With Dick one had to be very precise on how they worded a question. He liked to answer them 'right' and never really elaborated. Maybe it would get better when he was more used to English.

"What were you checking for in the study?" Bruce tried again.

Dick immediately became uncomfortable and looked down. He'd been so distracted by everything that he'd completely forgotten about the dream. Now that he remembered…

He pulled his legs onto the chair Indian style and hugged Peanut closer as he tried, unsuccessfully, not to shudder.

"My apologies, Master Richard," Alfred said setting down his tray and unfolding the blanket he had brought with him. "Here you are, sire. We'll have you warmed up in a moment."

He wrapped the blanket around Dick's shoulders and carefully handed him the mug of hot chocolate. "Thanks," Dick said, trying to ignore Bruce's concerned gaze.

Alfred nodded with a small smile and picked up another mug, "Master Bruce?"

Bruce absently accepted it and frowned. "Dick," he said gently, "What were you doing in

the study?"

"… You," he finally mumbled into his cup.

Bruce and Alfred exchanged a look. "You were looking for me?" Dick nodded looking embarrassed. "Why?"

Dick shrugged, "I didn't know where Alfred's room was… I guess he wouldn't have been there anyway. I just," he hesitated before finishing quietly, "I needed to talk to someone."

"Why?" Bruce asked.

"Did something happen, Master Richard?" Alfred looked concerned.

Dick chewed his bottom lip for a few minutes before answering. "Do… do you think Tony Zucco will come after me?"

They seemed surprised at the question. "What would make you think that, young sir?" Alfred was the first to ask.

Dick sighed, "I… had a dream. And in it he threw-" he cut himself off before he could complete the thought. He took a shaky breath, "He tried to kill me in the dream," he continued, "Do you think he'll try in real life?"

"Well…" Bruce started to reassure him, but thought better of it. He'd said it himself. Dick was a smart kid, and he was very perceptive… he would see right through the billionaire. "I think if he had the chance," Bruce said slowly, "yes, he probably would try to kill you." Dick opened his mouth to say something, but Bruce interrupted before he could with a hand on his shoulder. "But I promise you, Dick," he said firmly, "I won't give him the chance."

Dick managed a small smile, "I know," he said, "You're Batman, right?"

Bruce smiled too, "Right."

Dick leaned back in his chair and Alfred gently removed the mug as his eyes started to close. "Batman," he repeated stifling a yawn. He blinked at the billionaire and innocently said, "It's kind of weird."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed glancing at Alfred, who looked thoroughly amused. "It's definitely weird."

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Wow… barely made it on the tenth. Hope you liked it okay. Oh, and that flashback about running past his mother to avoid a spanking; my dad did that once. Maw Maw was laughing too hard to spank him afterwards… which made Aunt Wanda very upset because she had already gotten hers.


	18. Chapter 18: Request

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Hey! Sorry about the errors in the last chapter. There weren't that many, but still; I didn't mean for that one paragraph to be oddly spaced or Alfred to call Dick 'sire' (eye roll). Anyway, I was kind of tired and distracted by my older sister. Plus I really wanted to get it up on the tenth. Overall not my best proof job, but glad you liked it. You guys... you're awesome. Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter 18: Request

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The next morning Dick woke up in his bed.

It confused him, to say the least. The last thing he remembered was Bruce asking him not to tell anyone about his being Batman.

"Who would I tell?" Dick had asked curiously, half asleep, "You and Alfred are the only people I really talk to."

That had made Bruce laugh and Alfred smile. Then Dick had fallen asleep in the computer chair.

He looked around his room, sunlight peeking through the bottom of the curtains. There was nothing to indicate he had ever run out in a panic the night before. The door was snuggly closed. His blankets weren't screwed up from thrashing. Peanut was lying on the pillow next to him as though he'd never been moved at all.

Dick frowned. Had it all been a dream? He knew he had a crazy imagination, but he'd never dreamed something that strange before… or real.

Of course, he'd never dreamed anything like being pushed to his death either. That had felt real too. Obviously it hadn't been.

He sighed and climbed out of bed to get ready for the day. The only way to find out for sure was to talk to Bruce and Alfred.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Good morning, Master Richard," Alfred greeted him as he entered the kitchen, "How did you sleep?"

"Okay, I guess," Dick said as he studied the butler carefully. Trying to figure out what had happened without coming right out and saying it would not be an easy task if he tried to read Alfred's expression. The older man wasn't acting any different than he normally would.

"Is Bruce… working?" Maybe if he asked indirectly Alfred would give something away.

"I believe he is shaving, young sir." No such luck.

Dick sat down and crossed his arms on the table. He didn't want to simply ask and look stupid.

If it had been real, he would look dumb for not remembering. It was a pretty important discovery. How could anyone forget it in one night? But if it hadn't been real, Alfred would probably think he was losing his mind. He'd get 'the look'. Raised eyebrow, amused smile, small shake of the head. It was the look he'd gotten when he asked if 'nial' meant you accepted something since 'denial' meant you didn't.

He had blushed the color of a cherry after receiving that look.

Dick sighed and rested his chin on his arms. He'd wait for Bruce and see what he said. He knew what he _wanted _Bruce to say. He wanted it to be real. Not only because he thought that it would be cool to live with a real live hero… though that was part of it. There was another reason too, however. A question he wanted to ask.

But he decided not to get his hopes up. Not much had gone right in his life the past few months. Why should this be any different?

"Morning." Dick was brought out of his thoughts when Bruce walked into the kitchen. He had, in fact, shaved recently as Alfred had said. But something wasn't right… he didn't look nearly tired enough for someone who had stayed up half the night.

Dick remembered his father without sleep. He had always been irritable in the mornings. It didn't matter what anyone did or said; until he got his cup of coffee he absolutely refused to smile. There had been just one time when they'd forgotten to stock up. It had been a busy week and there wasn't time for anyone to go to the nearest grocery store. When his dad had woken up…

They had agreed never to mention that day for a reason. John Grayson without coffee was not something you wanted to tangle with. Ever. The whole crew had been on there toes that day. Except for poor Dick who had never experienced his father without coffee for more than fifteen minutes. And when he did, _both _of his parents had been in bad moods. Mary was mad at John; and he was mad at… well, everybody.

At least he'd apologized the day after for making Dick cry. Nothing said 'forgive me I was an idiot' like two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone.

But Bruce didn't look like he was going to snap or complain about everything. He didn't seem overly happy either. He was just… acting normal.

The man was about as much help as Alfred had been in the expression department.

"Morning," Dick replied as the billionaire took his seat. He tried not to sound too depressed. He had nearly convinced himself it was a dream by now. He'd always been good at reading people, but Bruce and Alfred weren't behaving any differently than they had yesterday morning. Discovering something as important as Batman's secret identity should get _some _kind of reaction, shouldn't it?

"Are you alright, Dick?" Bruce asked with a small frown.

Dick sighed and leaned back in his chair as Alfred set a plateful of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of him. Obviously he wasn't very good at hiding his emotions. "I'm fine," he said without looking up.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and studied him carefully. After a brief moment he gave Dick a small smile, "You weren't dreaming."

Dick looked up, surprise evident on his face, "What?" He wasn't sure if he'd heard right. How could Bruce know that was the thing that was bothering him?

"It's a lot to take in," Bruce said in understanding, "But it wasn't your imagination."

Dick narrowed his eyes a bit doubtfully, "You're sure?" Bruce nodded solemnly and Dick felt a surge of relief. "Good," he said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, "I'm not going crazy then."

"Give it time, Master Richard," Alfred said seriously as he dried a frying pan, "I'm sure it won't be long in this house."

Dick tilted his head looking confused and Bruce stared at the butler in shock. "Was that an actual joke, Alfred?" he asked in disbelief.

Alfred's voice and expression never changed but there seemed to be a teasing light in his eyes, "I see you're working on improving your observational skills, Master Bruce." He turned back to his dishes.

Bruce and Dick stared at each other for a moment… and then smiled. Dick ducked his head down and bit his lip to keep from giggling, but Bruce just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

They ate in silence for a while after that, but eventually Dick spoke up. "Bruce?" he said hesitantly, "Could I… ask you something?"

"I guess so," Bruce replied, curiosity peaked.

Dick didn't say anything right away. He knew what he was going to ask, he just wanted to word it right. He was afraid that Bruce might say no if he didn't explain why it was so important.

"I was thinking last night," he started carefully, "When that man grabbed me at the party, you and Commissioner Gordon saved me. But in my dream I was all alone. I couldn't get away from Zucco, and I couldn't stop him from… from throwing me off the roof." Dick looked down and frowned, looking both thoughtful and depressed. "I know it was just a dream," he said quietly, "But if it really happened-"

"It won't," Bruce tried to reassure him.

Dick looked up at him with a hint of stubbornness in his eyes, "But if it _did_," he said, "I wouldn't be able to do anything." His expression changed to one of sadness and his voice seemed to get smaller, "I'd die… just like them."

By now Alfred had stopped cleaning and both adults were giving the boy their full attention as he continued. "I'd have been killed at the cemetery last week if you hadn't saved me," he reminded the billionaire, "I never had to defend myself in the circus. But now… I don't like feeling helpless, Bruce." He looked at the man pleadingly, "Would you teach me some of the things you learned as Batman?"

Bruce didn't know what to say.

He wasn't really eager to teach Dick _anything _about fighting. He was worried that, before he knew it, the boy would be making himself a costume and asking Bruce to go on patrol with him. Constant danger. Exposed to criminals on a nightly bases… He could imagine the look he'd get from Alfred. Not to mention the Justice League if they ever found out. Clark, in particular, would probably glare at him so hard he'd accidently blast Bruce with his heat vision.

In the three minutes he took to think about it, Bruce came up with exactly 68 reasons it was a bad idea.

He made the mistake of looking at Dick before he could start to list them though. Big, hopeful, blue eyes stared back at him, unwavering. And he found the one reason he had no choice but to agree.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Dick sat up a little straighter and held his breath as he waited for the answer.

"Fine," Bruce finally said, "I'll do it."

Dick's whole face lit with excitement and disbelief. "Really?" he was practically bouncing out of his seat, "You'll really teach me?"

"Yes," Bruce said seriously, "But you'll have to do everything I tell you. No complaining."

"I won't!" Dick shook his head with a strange mixture of anticipation, joy, and nervousness, "I promise!"

Bruce nodded while carefully avoiding Alfred's gaze. He was sure he'd hear _precisely_ what the man thought about it later. But he didn't want to try to defend his choice right now; not in front of Dick. Besides, he needed time to come up with a good excuse… he doubted 'puppy-dog eyes' would cut it with Alfred.

"When can we start?" Dick asked. He didn't want to wait, but he knew Bruce had to work today. And tonight he would probably be busy doing paperwork or being Batman.

Bruce pursed his lips and considered the question for a moment. "I'll take the weekend off," he decided, "We can start then."

Before Dick could respond in any way, Alfred came to get his empty plate. "Now that we have that settled," he shot a look in Bruce's direction, "I believe that you have a company to run, Master Bruce. And _you_, Master Richard," he glanced at Dick, "have poetry to catch up on."

Dick was too excited to even care about having to read. Bruce was going to teach him self-defense. He was going to be trained by _the _Batman. Nothing could dampen his spirits today… not even stupid old poetry.

Dick hopped out of his seat with a bright smile and started for the door. But once he hot there he hesitated and glanced back at Bruce, who was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed as though trying to figure out why he had agreed to this.

Dick ran back before he could reconsider, and surprised the billionaire with a hug. "Thanks, Bruce," he said with a soft smile.

He turned around and hurried out of the room leaving two, slightly stunned adults staring at the door as it swung shut.

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And that's eighteen! Hope you enjoyed it. And the flashback about the coffee... I know about grumpiness without it. Personally I can't stand the stuff (though it does smell really good); but I have a great uncle who loves it. I didn't know how much until we went with him to some church meetings in Chicago though. He's usually really fun to be around (full of bologna... but fun). However he was like a completely different person in the mornings. No joy at all. You didn't really need to know that, of course. I just think it's fun to use personal life experiences. Also, I'm rambling because it's really late and this is what I do when I'm tired. Sorry, I'll shut up now. O (that's me yawning) (facepalm... I'm such a dork)


	19. Chapter 19: Talking Helps

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 19:

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Bruce crossed his arms from where he stood at the edge of the training mat. For something as important as self-defense, he felt it would be better to look at it from Batman's perspective. Tough and critical.

After all, these were things that could save the boy's life someday. They had to be taken seriously. Be precise, be efficient, and keep your head. That was how Batman looked at things. There was no hand-holding in life or death situations. No comfort zones. If Dick wanted to be prepared for those kind of situations, Bruce would have to help him the only way he knew how.

"You're form is off," he said emotionlessly, "You're feet aren't positioned right. An attacker could easily throw you off balance and you'd be pinned before you had time to blink."

Dick glanced down and shifted his feet, "Like this?" Bruce nodded.

The first thing they'd done after breakfast, was to go over the most basic defensive maneuvers, which had taken nearly three hours; apparently Bruce's definition of basic was different from the one Dick had learned in Juvie. Now Bruce was standing to the side and randomly calling them out to see if Dick could remember which was which and what position to get in. He'd yet to pull off one Bruce didn't correct him on, but he didn't mind.

He'd been waiting for this all week. Just yesterday Alfred had seemed worried he'd literally burst with anticipation; and Bruce had probably thought he'd be too energetic to pay much attention the first lesson. Honestly, there were a few times he'd suspected he might too. But when it came time, he had forced himself to calm down… he didn't want to miss anything important.

Besides, he'd promised that he would do everything the man said. So even though his movements were more sluggish than when he started, his stomach was threatening to growl any minute, and he was more than a little sweaty he didn't complain. He doubted he could if he wanted to anyway. He hadn't realized until this moment just how long it had been since he last exercised.

Up until this point, Dick had only used his energy in brief spurts… and only when it was necessary. This lesson was really winding him.

"Pull your arms closer to your chest," Bruce directed. Dick couldn't believe how easy it was for him to go from being Bruce Wayne to the Dark Knight in such a short time. It was like they really were two different people, which was probably the point. No one would ever guess who was under the cowl. But still, Dick couldn't help but wonder if they had anything in common.

"Watch your posture," Bruce added once Dick had fixed the positioning of his arms.

Bruce wouldn't say it out loud, considering it was only the first lesson… but he was impressed with how well Dick was doing. It was true that he was making quite a few mistakes, but that had been expected. What really impressed Bruce was the boy's attitude. He did everything without complaint. Pushed himself though he was obviously tiring; they would be stopping for a lunch break soon. But probably most remarkable of all was how focused he was. He was eight, just a kid, but he still listened so attentively to every word Bruce said.

That made Bruce wonder…

Dick was determined, that much was clear. Bruce could understand where he was coming from, not wanting to feel helpless. He'd had to depend heavily on a lot of people in the past few months; and many of those people had let him down. The moment he needed someone to be there more than any time before, he had been pushed aside. Whether he realized it or not, his trust had been shaken. And while he believed that Bruce would try to take care of him when it counted… Dick wasn't confident he'd always get there on time.

Bruce had felt something similar the night he watched his parents get shot. He'd been helpless in that moment to stop it, and only a few people cared about what happened to him after that. He remembered never wanting to feel that way again. All the anger, all the bitterness… he focused it into being Batman. He helped make sure others never felt that way either. Until that night at the circus, at least.

He had a feeling that's what Dick was trying to do too. Zucco may have had a little to do with it, but Bruce didn't think just fear of the man was enough to motivate Dick to this extent. The boy was looking for an outlet, somewhere to focus his emotions. He was looking for a purpose.

Even Alfred would have to understand why Bruce couldn't refuse Dick this if he'd heard that reasoning.

"Bruce?" Dick spoke up, breaking the billionaire out of his wandering thoughts. He'd been standing in the middle of the mat for five minutes waiting for Bruce to critique his form. He tilted his head curiously and studied the man, "Are you alright?"

Bruce blinked and stared at Dick for a second. Finally he uncrossed his arms, "Why don't we break for lunch?"

Dick narrowed his eyes suspiciously but followed him to one of the worktables. Alfred had cleared it nearly an hour ago when he'd brought down their lunch. A tray full of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and two tall glasses of milk. He'd barely noticed it earlier, but just looking at it now made his stomach growl.

Dick hopped into one of the chairs and glanced at Bruce as he bit in to one. Something was obviously bugging him. He had zoned out on the last exercise and now he seemed to have done it again. He was staring at the tabletop, absentmindedly tearing apart his sandwich. After a while a scowl developed on his face and he started poking the mutilated pieces around on his plate as though deciding which one to have first.

Dick raised an eyebrow. "I think they all taste the same, Bruce," he pointed out with a small frown, "What's wrong?" He paused and bit his lip worriedly before adding, "Is it… something I did?"

Bruce looked up and his expression softened slightly. "No, Dick, it's not you," he reassured quickly, "I was just thinking about… a problem I've been having."

"Problem?" Dick repeated furrowing his brow, "What kind of problem?" The billionaire looked hesitant to answer, which just made Dick even more curious.

"It's a Batman problem," Bruce said after a moment of thought.

"Can I help?" Dick asked without thinking. Bruce frowned and he ducked his head, feeling like an idiot for even saying it. Of course Bruce would think he meant actually going into the city. But he hadn't even been training for a full day yet, and he wasn't suicidal. He felt his cheeks color slightly as he tried to explain, "That's not- I mean I didn't…" he sighed and glanced back up, "Mama used to tell me that talking about a problem made it easier. I just thought, maybe it would work for you too?"

Bruce looked both relieved and skeptical as he studied Dick. Finally he sighed, "Alright," he said resigned, "I guess it couldn't hurt." He ran a hand through his hair as he gathered his thoughts, "The problem is, I made a mistake as Batman. And now I can't seem to fix it."

"Was it a bad mistake?" Dick asked when it didn't look like he was going to elaborate.

Bruce pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I was too late to stop a crime and now no one can find the man who did it. I had _one _lead but it fell through." He rubbed his head as though fighting a migraine, "Now that I've hit a dead end, I'm afraid he'll disappear and I'll never catch him. Just like…" He trailed off with a sad frown.

Dick stared at Bruce. It only took him a moment to put the pieces together. He knew exactly who they were discussing.

"The brother you were talking about the other night?" he said softly, "That was your lead?" Bruce nodded. "And he didn't know where Zucco's hiding?"

Bruce sighed, "He wasn't in town that night. And judging from how bad he was shaking when I questioned him… I think he honestly doesn't know anything."

"What about the other brother?" Dick asked hopefully, "You said he had two, didn't you?"

"He hasn't turned up yet."

Dick looked down and closed his eyes. If even Batman couldn't find Tony Zucco, what chance did his parents have for justice? At this very moment, the man could be on some tropical island relaxing in the sunshine. While his parents were…

The thought made him angry; which surprised him a little. Dick never really got _angry_. Annoyed, yes. Disappointed. Frustrated occasionally. But he had never felt this kind of anger before. How was it fair that Zucco got to keep on living his life when he had taken two others? Without punishment? Without remorse?

Dick spent every day thinking about them. And Zucco probably hadn't spared them one lousy minute. Some of the things he wished upon the man scared Dick. But if he couldn't be in prison, he should suffer somehow, right?

"Dick," Bruce put a hand on the boy's shoulder, bringing him out of his troubling thoughts, "I'm sorry."

Dick pushed his anger to the back of his mind when he saw the look on the billionaire's face. He could tell that Bruce wasn't apologizing for the snag in the case. He wasn't the type to quit; Dick knew he would keep looking for something. He'd track down any clue, regardless how small it was.

No, Bruce was apologizing for something else. 'I was too late' he had said. He'd been at the circus that night, Dick remembered. And now clearly he felt bad for not stopping it from happening. It was a mystery to Dick why, though. He'd been in the audience. In his civilian identity. With no more knowledge than anyone else about what was going to happen. His parents hadn't exactly fallen in slow motion either…

There was nothing Bruce, or Batman, could have done. And Dick didn't want the man to think that he blamed him for not acting.

He wondered if maybe that was the real reason Bruce had taken him in. He hadn't been able to stop Dick from becoming an orphan; so he was trying to keep the boy from spending the rest of his life alone.

Dick gave the man a small smile and put his hand on top of the one on his shoulder. He didn't want Bruce to feel guilty; especially when the billionaire hadn't let him. "The only person responsible is Tony Zucco. Okay?" he repeated what Bruce had told him.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and then smiled, "Right." He dropped his hand and glanced at his shredded sandwich. He frowned in distaste, looked around the room as though expecting to see Alfred spying on them from the elevator, and then looked back at Dick. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Question," he said seriously, "How do you feel about ice cream?"

Dick glanced at his own, which only had two bites missing. He looked back up and smiled at Bruce with a mischievous light in his eyes. "Make it chocolate," he said for an answer.

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Sorry for the late update. I was too tired to finish it last night, and this morning I had to get with my hairstylist (that would be my older sister… she's really jealous of how easily my hair curls) and then we went to the bay to take graduation pictures of me and my cousin. That took longer than expected. Especially since my mom loves taking pictures. She could probably be a professional photographer… if she'd only ask for money (she tried once, but no one ever wanted to pay her because they all knew her personally; they figured they should just get them for free... eye roll). Well, enough rambling about my boring life. Hope you liked it. Thanks for the reviews.


	20. Chapter 20: 4th of July

Disclaimer: I disclaim.

I won't bore you with long-winded (can you be long-winded when typing?) excuses about why I haven't updated daily. If you are displeased, I formally invite you to add a frowny face at the end of any review (if you leave one, but it doesn't matter). I can't promise it will make me update any faster in the future but... well, we'll see. Anyway, all conversations in the first half are in Romani (one of the reasons it took so long); this is because it's a memory/dream with his parents _before _he started learning English. So on with the chapter! (and thanks for the interest in my story)

Chapter 20: 4th of July

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"Vin pe!" (Come on!) Dick pleaded, impatiently tugging his father's hand, "Ne va fi dor de focuri de artificii!" (We'll miss the fireworks!)

John Grayson chuckled as his seven year old climbed up the grassy hill behind the fairgrounds, struggling to make him move faster. He was huffing and pulling and making small grunting noises, his face screwed up in slight frustration. Dick suspected that if his dad were to let go of his hand he'd fall over backwards. But he still persisted.

"Cred ca ne-ar vedea-le la fel de bine din partea de jos a dealului," (I think we'd see them just as well from the bottom of the hill) John said amusement clear in his voice as he slowed down.

Dick wrinkled his nose and dug his heels into the ground. He knew his dad was messing with him, and there was no way he could budge the taller, heavier man; but he was determined all the same. "Dar nu ar fi acelasi," (But it wouldn't be the same) he protested.

"De ce nu?" (Why not) John asked raising an eyebrow.

"Deoarece," (Because) was the only answer he received. Dick saw his dad roll his eyes and shake his head, but he chose to ignore it.

He felt like he was on a sugar high, practically vibrating with excitement. Usually they were performing their show when the cities they visited shot off the fireworks. But this time they weren't scheduled till thirty minutes after the last performance. This was the first Fourth of July he was going to see every colorful explosion, start to finish.

He had checked the day before and hadn't found any spot with as good a view as this hilltop. He opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his father's watch. Only a few more minutes till it started.

He tugged again and tried to persuade his dad to hurry. "In afara de Mama ne asteapta deja," (Besides Mom is waiting for us already) he reasoned, "Nu putem lasa ei singuri. Ea va fi ingrijorat!" (We can't leave her alone. She'll be worried!)

"Dick," John laughed, "Ea poate vedea ne. Ea nu va fi ingrijorat." (She can see us. She won't be worried) To prove his point he lifted his hand to wave; it was the one Dick was holding and the boy was easily lifted off the ground. He to bite his lip to keep from giggling. He was supposed to be annoyed.

Mary was kneeling in the grass about ten feet ahead, spreading a blanket for them to sit on. She stopped when she saw them though, and waved back with a bright smile.

"Acolo, veti vedea," (There, you see) John teased his son as he lowered him, "Acum ea stie suntem bine… asa ca ne poate incetini daca vrem sa si ea nu va fi ingrijorat." (Now she knows we're okay… so we can go slow if we want to and she won't be worried)

Dick sighed loudly and probably would've crossed his arms, but he didn't want to let go of his dad's hand. "Ea va fi plictisit apoi. Asa ca haide!" (She'll be bored then. So come on!)

He tugged again and this time John allowed himself to be pulled uphill. As soon as they reached the top, Dick let go of his father's hand and ran to sit on the blanket with his mother.

"Ah, exista meu mic robin," (Ah there's my little robin) she smiled and brushed his hair back fondly, "Ma intrebam ce a fost pastrarea te." (I was wondering what was keeping you)

Dick gave his father an impish grin that clearly said 'I told you so' and said, "A fost vina lui Tata. El-" (It was Daddy's fault. He-)

"Hei!" (Hey!) John interrupted as he sat down with his family. He glared at his son, but Dick could tell he was just playing. "Ceea ce am spus despre spune facute povesti?" (What have we told you about telling made up stories?) he tweaked his son's nose bringing a laugh.

"Pentru a le lasa la ghicitor." (To leave them to the fortune teller)

Mary rolled her eyes at them and looked at John questioningly. "Usa de baie?" (Bathroom door?) she guessed. John nodded and Mary flicked his shoulder, "Pastra spunandu-va sa-I repair." (I keep telling you to fix it)

"Si pastrati-a uita," (And I keep forgetting) he said simply with a shrug, causing Mary to roll her eyes again. He looked back at Dick and raised an eyebrow, "Nu este vina mea," (Not my fault) he said firmly.

Dick and Mary just looked at each other unconvinced. John opened his mouth to defend himself when the first firework exploded above their heads in sparkling red lights.

Dick immediately lost interest in the conversation. "Este incepand de!" (It's starting!) he exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on his knees. "Uite, uita-te!" (Look, look!) he added pointing as another one whistled into the air. He knew his parents had seen it perfectly well on their own, but for whatever reason he still felt the need to say it.

A bright blue one came next and Dick tugged his mother's sleeve, "Uite, Mama, este de aceeasi culoare ca ochii nostri!" (Look, Mom, it's the same color as our eyes!)

Mary smiled and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer so she could rest her chin on his head. "Nu, o pasare mica, ochii conferi stralucire le orice zi." (No, little bird, your eyes outshine them any day)

Dick turned his head in an attempt to smile at her when something moved in the line of trees to their left. He frowned and squinted, trying to see what it was.

A person… a person was watching them.

"Mama," he said pulling away from her slightly, "Cine e asta?" (Who is that?)

Mary followed his stare to the trees and looked confused. "Vezi pe cineva, copil?" (You see someone, baby?)

"El a fost acolo," (He was there) Dick insisted, pointing, "Privindu-ne." (Watching us)

John looked to where he was pointing too, but seemed just as puzzled as Mary. "Esti sigur, Dick… nu arata ca cineva este acolo." (Are you sure, Dick… It doesn't look like anyone's there)

Instead of answering, Dick jumped to his feet and ran after the figure. He didn't know why; but it felt like he didn't have control over his own body. Like he was being drawn to the mysterious person. All of a sudden he didn't care about the fireworks anymore. He didn't hear his parent's panicked voices calling for him to stop. He just kept running.

And then he heard the screams…

Dick's eyes widened and he took off in that direction. "Mama! Tata!" he called out to them. He didn't know how they had gotten in front of him, but it didn't matter. They needed him!

"Mama?!" he broke through the trees into a clearing and turned in a circle, frantically looking for them. "Tata!"

The clearing led to a cliff, where a tall man stood. He was looking over the edge with his back to Dick… and he started laughing.

Then Dick saw the strong, calloused hand gripping the ledge by the man's feet.

"Nu!" he screamed running forward, knowing who it belonged to, "Tata! Rezista! Eu vin!" (Hang on! I'm coming!)

By the time he reached the ledge the mysterious man had disappeared, but Dick didn't care. He skidded to the edge and felt his heart twist when he saw his father holding onto the cliff with one hand and his mother's hand with the other.

"Nu," he gasped in a whisper as tears came to his eyes. He got to his knees and grabbed his father's wrist. "Stai, Tata, voi trageti-va," (Hold on, Dad, I'll pull you up) he said in a choked voice.

"Dick…" John's voice was strained.

"Va rog!" (Please) Dick shook his head violently, "Nu lasati-ma de mine! Nu merg…" (Don't leave me by myself! Don't go…)

"Niciodata," (Never) John whispered softly. His hand slipped till he was holding on with just the tips of his fingers. He gently stroked Dick's desperately clinging hands with his thumb. "Te iubesc." (Love you)

Then they were falling from the trapeze and he was kneeling on the platform, listening as they called his name with their final breaths…

And he woke up gasping for air. Crying into his already tear stained pillow.

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_Thwack!_

Bruce froze in the process of removing his cowl and frowned. He tilted his head to listen more carefully, making sure it hadn't been his imagination. It had been a pretty long night after all.

_Thwack-Thwack!_

Two of the noises in rapid succession. So it wasn't in his mind.

He dropped the cowl to hang from his neck and started looking for the source. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from because of the way the cave echoed. But he soon recognized it was coming from the training area.

Bruce sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the Bat-computer's clock. Nearly four a.m. He rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his tired eyes and shook his head. Then he straightened and continued walking.

_Thwack!_ sounded again as Bruce made it to the mats.

He had been expecting Dick to be practicing one of the routines they'd been working on with the training mannequins. Or at least be using them as a punching bag. But that was far from what was going on.

Dick _had _set up the dummies at seemingly random places and distances around him, all outside of the large square mat. He had then scattered Batarangs, also randomly, around the mat's surface. But what was most surprising was what he was doing with them.

Bruce watched in sincere amazement as the boy flipped, somersaulted, and cart wheeled all over the place. Every move was smooth and precise. When he came close to the dummies at the edges, he would use some of the attacking or defensive moves Bruce had been teaching him. Then he'd flip away while grabbing a Batarang or two and proceed to throw them at the dummies. The billionaire could tell by the numerous bat-shaped knives impaled in them, and also by the fact that there were none on the floor, that Dick was aiming every throw. And actually hitting where he wanted them; all nonlethal areas on human opponents.

Dick didn't notice him until one particular flip had turned him to face the vigilante.

Instantly the boy froze in shock; eyes wide, arm still raised to throw the batarang at the next target. He didn't stare for long before bringing himself out of his stupor.

He quickly jerked his hand behind his back as though that would make Bruce forget seeing the knife in his hand. Alfred had finally accepted the self defense training, but he had adamantly refused to let Dick near the weapons. If it had been the butler standing there, he would have gotten an earful.

Bruce simply raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "I think you missed one," he said keeping his face neutral. Dick frowned and tilted his head curiously, surprised he wasn't in trouble. Bruce clarified before he could ask by pointing to one of the dummies.

It was almost in the middle of the mayhem, in clear view and more easily hit than some of the others. In fact, every dummy seemed to have at least five Batarangs sticking out of them. But there wasn't one on the mannequin in question.

Dick shook his head, still looking slightly confused. "I didn't miss it," he objected, "I wasn't trying to hit it."

"Oh?" Bruce asked, "And why would that be?"

"I was pretending he was, uh…" Dick trailed off and shifted uncomfortably. He looked down and Bruce could see a hint of color rise to his cheeks as though he were embarrassed.

He glanced back up at the dummy and noticed something he hadn't seen the first time. He couldn't help but smirk a little when he saw the faint outline of a bat drawn in pencil on the mannequin's chest. Dick had been pretending it was him. It was hard not to chuckle out loud.

"Helping Batman take down the bad guys?" he guessed, amused.

"Not exactly," Dick mumbled, dropping the previously hidden Batarang and nudging it with his toe.

"So it was just you taking them down," the billionaire teased, "Did I lose a fight with Mr. Freeze and leave you to save the day?"

Dick looked up with a bewildered expression. "You don't lose fights," he said matter-of-factly.

Bruce smiled and sat down on the edge of the mat, motioning for Dick to join him. The boy seemed a bit reluctant but he complied. When he was settled Bruce gave him a serious look, "Do you know what time it is?"

Dick shrugged innocently, "Late?"

"… You had another nightmare, didn't you?" Bruce said gently.

Dick sighed in defeat and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his chin in his hands. "I couldn't fall back asleep," he admitted, "I thought training might make me tired… but it didn't really work." Bruce nodded in understanding and Dick looked up with sad, desperate eyes. "It's been four months, Bruce," his voice was slightly strained, "Four months and three days exactly. But the dreams… even the happy ones, they all end up the same way." He gazed at floor, talking mostly to himself, "I dreamed about how we watched the fireworks today, last year. It was exactly like I remembered. I thought for once maybe it would stay that way… but they still fell in the end."

"It's hard," Bruce agreed thinking back to what his own nightmares were like after the shooting. Gunshots and scattered pearls.

"When… when do you think they'll stop?" Dick asked quietly.

The billionaire sighed, "Not soon enough I'm afraid." Dick wasn't exactly comforted by Bruce's answer; but at least he'd answered honestly. They sat in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. It wasn't long though, before Bruce looked back to him a bit curiously.

"So the dummy you were pretending was me," he said hoping to get Dick's mind off of bad dreams, "What _was _it for?"

Dick shrugged, "You always watch me when I'm practicing. It helped me remember what you've been teaching me."

"Mmm," Bruce hummed looking at him thoughtfully, "I don't think you learned _all _of those moves from me. Can you imagine Batman cart wheeling over the criminals?"

Dick gave him a small smile, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "I can imagine him getting tangled in his cape if he tried," his smile brightened at the mental image. Bruce however, scowled in mock offense.

"I thought you said I never lose a fight," he pointed out.

"You'd still win," Dick said seriously, "The bad guys would be laughing so hard they would pass out because they couldn't breathe." Before Bruce could react Dick had jumped up and run away, laughing at the billionaire's expression.

His surprise didn't last long though, and soon he was chasing after the overly amused boy. He caught up to him near the computer and wrapped an arm around his waist, lifting him off the ground. Dick squealed in surprise even as he continued laughing. He grabbed Bruce's arm and halfheartedly tried to escape.

"You think that was funny, do you?" Bruce asked.

"Yes!"

"Well do you know what I think is funny?" Dick shook his head, "Tickling comedians!"

"No! Bruce!" Dick protested through his giggles as the tickling commenced. After about two minutes of this, Bruce realized he was laughing too. It somewhat startled him… especially since he was still dressed as Batman. Usually he hated being caught off guard; but for once he didn't mind at all. He couldn't remember the last time he'd _really _laughed. Not like this at least.

Unfortunately, the moment didn't last long.

The computer sounded an alert, brightening as it did so, and Bruce and Dick froze to stare at the screen. A message popped up.

SUSPECT SPOTTED

Bruce set Dick back down and walked to the keyboard, the boy following curiously behind him. The vigilante glanced at the clock. 4:12 a.m. He frowned.

He had to be at work in roughly four hours. He was pretty much running on empty as it was… and he hadn't had an ounce of caffeine to sustain him in over six hours.

Bruce sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He would see who he was being alerted to and then decide if he should go after them or if they could wait another night. If it was someone like the Joker or Two-Face they would have to be dealt with quickly. Hopefully it was one of the less violent criminals, like Catwoman, and could be handled the following night.

He clicked the box and the reported sighting information replaced it. Bruce didn't miss the strangled gasp that came from Dick as the name was displayed at the top of the file. This was definitely one of the times he did not like being caught off guard. He grit his teeth as he read the name again.

TONY ZUCCO

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Gasp! Here we have progression! Hope you liked it. Soon we'll have Dick on his way to becoming Robin! (excited squeals) - that just lets ya know it's late and I should be in bed... I don't squeal unless there are stinging bugs around; and even then it's more of a yelp than a squeal (sorry... rambling)


	21. Chapter 21: Just I

Disclaimer: These guys aren't mine.

Quick response to a few reviews. Sleuthy: Yeah, I guess I see what you mean about the Romani; but I'm too lazy to change it, and I wasn't planning on doing any other detailed memories like that. It was just a onetime thing. Emberflames7: There are still a few things I want to do _before _he becomes Robin, and I wasn't planning on adding the Justice League in this story; but I _am_ considering doing a different one with them in it (so don't freak out on me, okay?). Thanks to everyone else who reviewed! On with the story!

Chapter 21: Justice I

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For a moment Dick forgot how to breathe.

He was too shocked seeing Zucco's name on the screen. After four months of nothing, he had started to lose hope that the man would ever be seen again. He'd had plenty of time to run. Why would he still be in Gotham?

Dick's heart seized a little as one thought crossed his mind… Was Tony Zucco waiting for a chance to kill him? He remembered the dream he'd had about being thrown off the roof and shuddered involuntarily. He knew nothing about it had been real, but even now he still hadn't shaken the idea that he _was _meant to die with his parents. The ropes had just snapped too soon.

He glanced up at Bruce, who was scanning the report with narrowed eyes. It had to have been nearly twenty-four hours since he'd last slept. Dick could see how exhausted he was. But even so, after a moment he pulled the cowl back up and turned to leave. "You should go back to sleep," he told the boy as he walked to the weapons board to restock his belt, "I'll be back soon."

Dick frowned and shot an incredulous look at the man's back. Did Bruce honestly think there was a chance he could sleep now?

He glanced back at the computer, his eyes quickly scanning over the report. Aside from the time of sighting and the address of an apartment building, there was also a short profile on the man. The words 'mob boss' stood out the most, and answered the question of why he hadn't left the city. Here he was a leader among criminals, if he moved he'd be starting at the bottom again. His men had probably been hiding him until the pressure wasn't as great for his capture.

But then Dick spotted something else that made his eyes widen in surprise. There it was in black and white. Zucco had been a circus kid.

Just like Dick, he had grown up performing in the Big Top. But the Zucco's had specialized in knife-throwing. And Tony Zucco had learned everything there was to know about the art from his father… the same father he had accidently killed while performing.

It took a moment to process. Dick knew that accidents happened sometimes, especially with such dangerous acts. For a while he'd thought his parents' death had been one of those accidents. Zucco had to have been devastated when it happened, knowing it was because of him. How could he live with himself knowing he'd done it _willingly _all these years later?

Dick heard Bruce's footsteps on the metal walkway that led to where he kept the vehicles and he felt a surge of panic. Without thinking, he ran after the billionaire with surprising speed. He caught up to him just as he was opening the door of the Batmobile and grabbed his arm.

"Bruce, don't!" he begged, "Don't go!"

The confusion that couldn't be seen on Bruce's face was evident in his voice, "Why? You want him to go to jail don't you?"

Dick made a face at the question. "Of course," he said, "But I don't want you…"

"Don't want me to what?" Bruce pressed when the boy trailed off.

Dick didn't say anything and just shook his head. He didn't want Bruce to get hurt. He was Batman and he was a good fighter, but he was also exhausted; Dick could tell by the way his shoulders were sagging. Batman never slouched.

And Tony Zucco was an experienced knife thrower who would be _aiming _to kill this time. He'd been a teenager when his father had died, he'd have to be in his thirties. Plenty of time to work on accuracy. What if Bruce wasn't fast enough to get out of the way? He and Alfred were the closest thing Dick had to a family now. He didn't want to lose another one…

"Please," he said his voice barely a whisper. Bruce sighed and gently pried Dick's fingers from his arm.

"I'll be fine," he tried to reassure the boy, "If I don't get him now he could disappear again."

"Then he'll undisappear later," Dick tried to convince him. He didn't give Bruce time to correct him before he continued, "You're tired, I can tell. You can't go… at least," he looked thoughtful, "not alone…"

"Dick," Bruce's voice held a warning. But he didn't seem to hear it; his eyes lit up with the idea.

"Bruce, I can help you," he said enthusiastically. Bruce opened his mouth to protest but Dick wouldn't let him. "You saw me earlier," he persisted, "I'm getting better, I can handle it. I can watch your back, Bruce."

"No."

"But-"

"No buts," Bruce said firmly, "You're not coming with me, Dick. End of discussion." Dick looked like he was about to argue, but Bruce turned him around and nudged him towards the elevator. "Go to your room, Dick. I'll be back soon."

Dick looked back over his shoulder with a mixture of frustration and worry. "Bruce…" his tone was slightly desperate.

Bruce gave him a small smile. "Don't worry," he said climbing into the car, "I never lose a fight, remember?"

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Dick sat on his bed rocking back and forth with nervous energy. He didn't want to just sit there waiting for Bruce to get back. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that something would go wrong. That Bruce would end up getting hurt… or worse.

He hopped off of the bed and began pacing. He'd seen his dad do it a lot when he was stressed, though it had never seemed to help. Not that there was much to stress about at the circus. But there was that one time when Dick fell into a pond near the fairgrounds around Thanksgiving time. Pneumonia was not fun. Even if everyone was fussing over him and he got to drink from a twisty straw.

Dick sighed and looked at the clock. He frowned. It certainly didn't feel like it had only been five minutes.

His eyes drifted to the poster hanging over the nightstand. Once again they were drawn to the words 'death-defying'. His heart wrenched. His parents had never fallen before Tony Zucco came along.

And Bruce had never lost a fight…

Dick' eyes narrowed stubbornly. He had to do something. He couldn't lose another person he cared about. The only question was; what could he do?

He sat down again and racked his brain. Looking around the room for some form of inspriration, his eyes happened to fall on the poster again… and he got an idea.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

It took roughly fifteen minutes to get to the run-down apartment complex by car. Unfortunately, eight year olds can't exactly drive and Dick doubted he could even reach the pedals to try. So he was stuck going on foot; even though he'd found the shortest route on the computer and had been moving fairly quickly, he still felt it took too long. And it didn't help that he had to keep to the shadows, but there was no telling how many crooks came out at night in Gotham.

Besides, if a little kid walking alone wasn't enough to attract attention, his outfit certainly would.

It was the first time since the day he arrived at Wayne Manor that he had even looked at his old performing outfit. Now he was wearing it.

It was just like Dick remembered. Red on top, green on bottom, form fitting, easy maneuverability. There were a few changes though. Tennis shoes instead of the thin fabric ones used in acrobatics were one thing; they would protect his feet better and be more effective for kicking. He'd also brought a dark jacket to help blend into the darkness like Batman did. The suit wasn't the best choice for sneaking around, but it had better mobility than any of his other clothes.

Dick had also made two other changes to his appearance before leaving the Manor. Both done in hopes that Zucco wouldn't discover who he really was. He didn't think the man would think twice about killing him either way, but he was afraid that if Zucco did know and managed to catch him… he might not be satisfied with killing Dick quickly.

So Dick had made an effort to conceal his identity. The first thing he'd done was carefully remove the 'G' that had been sewn onto his costume. It had taken a few minutes to get it off without tearing it to pieces, but it was important to him. He didn't have very many personal things to remind him of his parents. His mother had added the 'G's to all of their outfits by hand the year he joined them on the trapeze. Maybe Alfred could help him put it back later.

The second thing he'd done was look for something to hide his eyes, like Bruce's cowl did. Dick's knew they would be a dead give-away, emphasis on 'dead'. People were always telling him they'd never seen eyes the same shade as his. Even his mother's weren't exactly like his. It would've taken too much time to make a mask though, so Dick had grabbed a pair of sunglasses he'd found while exploring the cave weeks before. Bruce must have made them for undercover work or something. They were pretty high-tech; with heat sensors, a tiny camera for recording video, and most helpful at the moment… night vision. And it was all controlled by a small matching wrist-watch.

A wrist-watch that was beeping quietly at the moment. Dick's heart quickened a bit in anticipation. That beep meant he was near the Batmobile; which also meant he was near the apartment… and Zucco.

Dick sped up through the dark alleyway he'd been walking down and saw the distinctive car parked in the shadows. Bruce was still here; either in stealth or in trouble.

"Can't help him from out here," Dick mumbled under his breath. He studied the buildings. The one Zucco had been spotted going in was to his left. One problem solved. Now he just had to find a way in without being seen.

He walked deeper into the alley, past the Batmobile, and found a dead end. No doors, no holes in the walls; he looked up and saw the only windows were on the floor above him. Then he noticed the fire escape, which could've worked… if the ladder were about a foot lower.

Dick sighed, wishing he had one of Bruce's grappling guns. Unfortunately the only things small enough to fit in his jacket pockets were a few Batarangs.

There had to be another way to reach it. He was too small to move one of the dumpsters and the Batmobile wasn't close enough for him to stand on to get up there. But the wall…

The ladder couldn't have been more than two feet from the dead-end wall.

"Hmm," Dick hummed thoughtfully. He studied the distances for a moment and then backed up to the car's bumper and faced the wall. He took a deep breath… and ran straight at it. Just before he would've hit it face-on, he jumped and planted one foot as high up as he could. He pushed off, twisting his body in midair and latched onto the bottom rung. Without even pausing for a breath, he clambered up the rest of the way and flipped onto the platform.

He allowed himself a small smile; piece of cake.

He stepped up to the window and tried to look inside, but it was covered with so much dust and grime he couldn't see anything. Carefully he eased the window open an inch, not very surprised to find it oiled; this must have been where Batman had made his entrance. He pressed his ear against the crack and listened. Nothing. Not even a creaking floorboard.

Dick opened the window the rest of the way and took one last look behind him. His last chance to just turn around and hide in the Batmobile until Bruce was finished.

Somewhere in the complex a gunshot rang out followed by multiple voices shouting. Then the crashing noises of fighting.

Dick slipped through the window without another thought and ran to the door.

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Okay, so I was going to try to do the whole scene with Zucco with no cliffhangers; but seeing how long it's been since I updated (and that it would probably take me all of tonight and half of tomorrow to finish) I thought I'd split it for you. I'll try my very absolute hardest to get the other half posted tomorrow… at some point in the day. Promise.


	22. Chapter 22: Justice II

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Later than I'd hoped to update, but I had a bit of a breakdown today. I was nearly crying while I was making my bed and it was only worse because I was practically screaming in my head 'This is so stupid; I shouldn't be this upset!' (not like it's the first time my younger sister has been insensitive about other people's feelings). But we're all entitled to irrational emotions every now and then I guess. Once I got over that I was spending some time with my _older _sister before she went to work… Told you I'd get it up at some point though, so here it is. Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter 22: Justice II

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Dick moved quickly and quietly down the hall to one of the center rooms. Though he was pretty sure the 'quiet' part didn't matter in the slightest. He'd be surprised if the people inside could hear their own thoughts, much less the light footsteps of an eight year old.

_Craaash!_

Dick flinched slightly as, what sounded like a window, shattered and someone yelled. Whoever it was wouldn't have died, but he'd definitely have a broken bone or two. Still not very pleasant. But at least it hadn't been Bruce. Batman probably wouldn't have even grunted.

Dick made it to the door, halfway open with light spilling out, and paused for only a moment before glancing around the doorframe. The first thing he saw was Batman taking a punch to the jaw.

Considering that he was fighting seven guys at one time, it shouldn't be that surprising… but it obviously wasn't the first hit they'd gotten in. Common thugs never hit the Batman more than twice, tops. That's what Bruce had told him anyway. Which meant that Dick had been right about the lack of sleep affecting his reflexes.

One of the mobsters broke away from the group and grabbed a chair. He managed to get behind the vigilante and raised it in the air. Dick's eyes widened and he started to call out a warning, but quickly slapped a hand over his own mouth.

The only thing that would do would be to alert them all to his presence. Bruce would get distracted, the guy would knock him out… and then Dick would be facing a crowd of grown men on his own. Not the best idea. But he still needed a distraction of some kind; right now.

Just as the guy was about to bring the chair down on Bruce's head, Dick flicked the light switch. The room was plunged into darkness and Dick slipped into the room as they faltered in their fight. He stayed pressed against the wall as he made his way behind them.

As Bruce resumed pounding the six in front of him, Dick approached the guy who'd tried to hit him and swiped his legs out from under him. The chair clattered forcefully to the floor, the man close behind it. He lay there for a moment, stunned, obviously wondering what had happened. He didn't have long to ponder it though, before a broken leg from the chair smacked into his head. He would have a killer migraine when he woke up, but Dick could see he was still breathing fine.

Dick stepped over the unconscious guy and ducked behind the couch to avoid being seen. He peeked over the top and jerked back when Bruce punched another of the men in his direction. The thug landed heavily on the moldy cushions and groggily shook his head. He was about to stand to rejoin the fight, but Dick whacked him over the head with the chair leg before he could even sit up straight. That left five others still fighting.

Bruce kicked out. Four others still fighting. Dick couldn't help but smile a little, somewhere between proud and disbelieving that he had knocked out two of them.

He got on his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the couch closest to the door. Another thug crashed into the wall beside it and Dick stood up, ready to hit him too. But his wrist brushed against the couch and suddenly the room burst into bright reds and orange colors, shaped like people. Dick gripped the armrest and closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the dizziness. He must have activated the heat sensors by accident.

Once he'd caught his balance, he slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times. The man who had crashed into the wall still hadn't moved, which left four figures swirling around giving him a headache.

Dick dropped his weapon and lifted his hand to the watch. He couldn't tell which one was Batman like this. The room was still wobbling.

He found the button to turn it off… and stopped. A fifth figure had appeared; but he wasn't in the room. His heat signature wasn't as defined as the others. Dick realized he was seeing the man through the wall.

He was walking at a quick pace; away from the fight towards the stairs. Dick pressed the button and glanced back to see how Batman was doing. He seemed to be getting over his fatigue now that the numbers had been reduced.

Dick moved to the door and slipped outside. Bruce didn't need any more help here. But this other criminal needed to be stopped.

If Batman was busy, Dick would have to do.

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As Dick followed silently after the fleeing thug, he was surprised when the man headed upstairs. Going out the front door while Batman was distracted seemed like the quickest escape route. But this man just kept going up. Third floor. Forth. Fifth. He stopped at the sixth.

Dick couldn't understand what he was doing. Was he attempting to hide? Looking for something maybe? Or could he be trying to throw Batman off by coming up here and then climbing down the fire escape?

Whatever it was, Dick wasn't going to let him get away. If Bruce could handle four guys by himself… well, five counting the one he'd obviously tossed out the window; then Dick could handle this one.

If he still had the chair leg, he could've hit him from behind and be done with it. Unfortunately he'd forgotten to pick it up on his way out of the room. That left hand-to-hand combat; or, more hopefully, foot-to-head. But he was too far away to do anything yet, and he didn't know what was on floor six that the man was hoping to find. If it were a weapon, Dick didn't stand a chance. He had to keep to him in the stairwell.

Besides, it was a smaller area. Dick was a smaller person; he'd have the advantage. Easier movement.

The man grabbed the doorknob and Dick's eyes narrowed.

_Thunk!_

A Batarang thudded into the wall beside the door; quivering slightly at eye level with the thug. He froze and stared at it, hand moving carefully from the knob. He said nothing for a long moment, and Dick used the hesitation to climb over the banister and get closer without being seen.

The man seemed to be considering something. Then he spoke and Dick almost lost his footing on the narrow ledge his toes were dangerously close to falling off of. He would never forget that voice…

"Guess the rumors about the Batman are true after all. Eight of my best men in less than ten minutes… a real freak of nature, aren't you?" Tony Zucco said sounding annoyed and impressed at the same time. Dick watched, hardly daring to breathe, as his parents' murderer squinted at the shadows suspiciously.

His emotions seemed to have gone numb at the sight of the man who haunted nearly every nightmare. He didn't know if he should feel angry, or pained, or frightened. His thoughts were suddenly jumbled; all he could remember was that he had been supposed to get the drop on this guy as soon as he was close enough. Now he was three feet away, and Dick wasn't moving.

"Trying to intimidate me, Freak?" Zucco sneered. Dick didn't register what he said, but he blinked and frowned in confusion. Why did he suddenly feel shorter?

He looked down and saw his hands had started to sweat, steadily slipping down. Six floors up? His eyes widened and he tried to tighten his grip. The edges of the square metal posts biting into his hands brought him out of his daze.

"The longer you wait, the more convinced I am you're afraid to take me on," Zucco continued to taunt. He studied the area again…

In a blur of movement, something swung over the banister and hit him squarely in the chest before back flipping away. Zucco yanked the Batarang from the wall as he fell against the door. It took but a second to aim at the crouched figure and draw his hand back to throw. But before he could he noticed the small stature of his target, and he stopped in disbelief.

"A _kid_?" he raised a greasy eyebrow and Dick glared at him. He was in a defensive position, ready to dodge the moment Zucco got over his surprise. He would need be quick to get out of the knife's path. And then Zucco wouldn't have a weapon to use against him.

"I never heard no rumors about the Bat havin' a brat," Zucco said curiously, looking the boy up and down. There was a strange look in his eyes that gave Dick goose bumps.

"He doesn't," Dick said in a surprisingly strong voice. Talking had not been part of the plan; but he wasn't about to make a move until Zucco did. As long as the man had that knife, he had the upper hand.

"Oh?" Zucco smirked, "Then who are you supposed to be? An obsessed fan? A pet?" Dick just glared harder, even though the smile Zucco was giving him was really creepy. "Is that what he does when crime gets slow in the city? You entertain him?"

Dick frowned and tilted his head. What was he talking about?

The knife flew towards him and he realized the man had just been distracting him. He jumped to the left, but not fast enough. The Batarang left a cut on his right arm as it went past and Dick bit his lip at the pain. He didn't have time to recover though.

Zucco had closed the distance and raised his arm to hit the boy. Dick ducked under the blow and kicked the man swiftly behind the knee. He fell and tried to grab Dick's arm, but his hand came up empty and Dick spun around to kick him on the side of the head. Tennis shoes had definitely been the better choice.

Zucco didn't go down though. Anger was clear on his face despite looking slightly dazed. He swept a leg out, trying to trip the pest; but Dick jumped over it, landed on his hands, and rolled across the floor. When he stood up he was behind Zucco and he aimed another kick to his head. Zucco moved but the kick still clipped him in the side.

Now he was livid.

He got to his feet and spun around, trying to feign a punch. But Dick had been working with Batman. He noticed the tension in the man's left leg and did a back handspring away from both the surprise kick and the phony punch.

Zucco growled and came at him again. Only this time when Dick dodged, the man managed to snatch the hood of his jacket.

Before he could register what had happened, Dick was pulled backwards and thrown against the wall. And Zucco had his opening. He hit Dick in the stomach hard, and the boy gasped as the air left his lungs. A second punch and he sank to his knees with his arms wrapped around his abdomen and he shut his eyes.

A hand gripped his hair tightly, nearly pulling it out, and jerked his head back. Zucco took off the sunglasses and crushed them under his foot. Dick winced; Bruce wouldn't be too happy with that.

Not that Dick would live to hear about it.

Zucco grabbed his chin when he tried to look away and studied his face. A light of recognition came to his eyes. "You," he mumbled, "You're that kid from the circus."

Dick tried to glare defiantly, but he could feel his lower lip trembling. All the emotions he hadn't felt before came now in a rush. His eyes stung and somehow he found his voice, though it was strained and shaky, "And you're the man who killed my parents."

Zucco stared at him for a moment… and then laughed. Dick cringed at the sound; it was worse than his nightmares. "Well this is certainly interesting," he said with cruel amusement, "You come here hoping to 'avenge' them?" Dick's heart was pounding now, he couldn't speak anymore. Zucco didn't seem to care. He just laughed again and gave the boy a chilling smile. "You must miss them," he said with fake sympathy.

Dick bit his lip, but despite his efforts a few tears spilled from his eyes. Zucco patted his cheek harder than was necessary and smirked. "No need for that, kiddo," he said pulling Dick to his feet, "I have a feeling you'll be seein' them real soon." He let go of Dick's hair and pulled both of his wrists behind his back.

And then he started dragging him roughly up the stairs.

Dick's breath became rapid and shallow as he remembered his dream. He struggled to get away but he couldn't. "No! No, let go of me!" he begged, "Please!" But Zucco ignored him.

He kicked and yelled all the way up the stairs… and then they got to the roof.

"NO!" he screamed even louder, "HELP!"

"You should save your breath kid," Zucco grunted as one of the kicks found his legs, "You don't have many to spare."

They reached the edge of the building, and just like in the dream Zucco sat him down on the ledge. "Please…" his voice was a whisper; one last attempt for mercy that he knew was pointless. Zucco didn't even respond.

He just smirked for the last time… and pushed Dick over the edge.

Dick desperately hoped this was another dream. Even if he woke screaming and terrorized at least he would wake up. But in his heart he knew it wasn't. He was going to die like his parents. Only he was going to die alone.

He'd fallen for about two seconds that felt like an eternity… and then someone was wrapping an arm around his waist.

His cry turned into a choked gasp, and then they were swinging upward. Landing safely on the roof once again.

Batman set him down gently, anchored a second grappling line to the roof, and turned on Zucco. Before the murderer could blink, his arms were bound to his side and he was sitting on the ledge he had just pushed Dick from.

Batman grabbed his collar and pulled the suddenly very pale gangster forward till their noses were practically touching. "See how you like it," he said in a low, threatening growl. Then he pushed Zucco over the edge, still screaming after the line stopped his fall.

Dick watched the whole scene but he didn't really see any of it. He was trembling so bad he felt like he would collapse any second. His heart was still pounding, his breathing still quick. He was in shock.

And then Bruce knelt in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. Dick couldn't see him very well through the tears that were still blurring his vision, but somehow he managed a shaky, "Br-Bruce?"

Bruce sighed and stood, picking Dick up and wrapping him in his cape. He set a tracer for the police to find the criminals and headed for the fire escape.

"Let's get you home."

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There! No cliffhangers! Hope you liked it.


	23. Chapter 23: Reassurance

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 23: Reassurance

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"Master Bruce, thank heavens you're back." Alfred seemed to materialize by his side as soon as he stepped out of the Batmobile.

One of the only mysteries Bruce had yet to solve was how the older man could move so quickly and silently without running. Another mystery was how Alfred could successfully startle the Batman, who was always aware of his surroundings. It happened more than he would care to admit. But, to his credit, he never let it show. Except for tonight…

It was only a small jerk, hardly anything at all, but enough to prove just how exhausted he was. If Alfred noticed though, he didn't let on.

Something was wrong.

Alfred always chewed him out if his lack of sleep became apparent. That tiny jump should have set him off on his usual lecture about 'sleep is an important part of a healthy lifestyle' and 'the human body is not meant to run on coffee'. But he didn't say a word about it.

An expression of worry was set on Alfred's face. Bruce never saw him this worried unless he came home with serious injuries. Instantly on alert, Bruce straightened and hid his weariness with Batman's usual emotionless appearance.

"What is it, Alfred?" he asked, hoping desperately that the League hadn't called him for some full-scale alien attack.

"It's Master Richard, sir," the older man said with obvious distress, "He is not in his bed and I have checked every inch of the Manor and grounds."

Bruce pulled back the cowl and ran a hand through his hair, slightly exasperated with himself. Of course.

Alfred was never one to break a habit. He woke up every morning at five o' clock exactly; prepared himself for the day so that he could meet the needs of his charges; and began a thorough examination of the Manor to make sure everything was in its place and presentable. For the past three months the first room he checked was Dick's.

Bruce had been so distracted he hadn't thought about calling Alfred. He sighed heavily. It didn't look like he'd be getting any sleep before work.

"He's in the car," Bruce finally answered. He walked to the passenger side and looked over the top of the vehicle at the butler.

Alfred looked shocked for a moment as he looked from the Batmobile's tinted windows to his employer. But it wasn't long before his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Master Bruce," his tone held a warning but Bruce cut off the lecture before it could start.

"I'll explain," he promised tiredly and then gestured to the car, "But I think we could both use some hot chocolate… if you wouldn't mind?"

Alfred still looked suspicious and disapproving, but he nodded nonetheless and walked away without a word. He didn't have to say anything. His body language made it clear that there would be a long, mostly one-sided, discussion later. The main points probably being 'responsibility' and 'child-care'.

But that would have to wait.

Bruce opened the passenger door and winced slightly at the sad sight before him. Dick was curled up tightly on the seat; arms around his legs, knees against his chest, staring straight ahead with a dazed expression and watery eyes. He'd been like that the entire ride back to the cave. No words, no movement. Bruce had asked him if he was hurt when he started the car. But he had just shrunk further into his seat, unblinking, as though he hadn't heard. It made him wish he'd punched Zucco across the face to send him over the edge instead of simply pushing him.

Bruce knelt beside the car and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

In the three months that Dick had been with them, Bruce had changed a great deal from the emotionless recluse he'd been. But he was still a long way off from a suitable father figure. He had no idea what to do or say to comfort Dick right now. There was no reference point in his own life to compare with what the boy must've been feeling. After all, Bruce had never had to face down and nearly be killed by his parents' murderer… and he doubted he ever would.

Finally, Bruce sighed. He would just have to play it by ear and hope that Alfred came back fairly quickly. He was always more helpful in understanding feelings.

Clearing his throat, Bruce turned his attention back to Dick, who hadn't moved an inch. "Dick?" he gently tried to reason, "You know you can't stay like this all day… you'll get stiff, and Alfred will be upset with us." There was no response. "Alright, so he'll only be upset with me. He'll probably make me eat nothing but steamed broccoli for two weeks unless you help me out." Not even a shift. "He'll be back soon with some hot chocolate," he persuaded, "Maybe with some marshmallows and whipped cream…"

He trailed off seeing that nothing he was saying was getting through. He frowned and tried to think of something else to try when his eyes caught on a small puddle of red staining the seat. For the first time he noticed the knifelike cut in the sleeve of Dick's jacket and he grit his teeth slightly. Zucco was lucky Batman had a 'no killing' policy.

Very carefully, Bruce lifted Dick from the seat and carried him up the stairs. The infirmary wasn't far from the vehicle hangar out of necessity, but he was hesitant to take Dick there. From what he could see through the ripped fabric the cut wasn't very deep, and the lack of color in his face was probably more from the fall than blood loss. And he didn't think Alfred needed any more reason to be worked up. If he had to go looking only to find them there… Bruce winced and headed in the other direction.

He stopped briefly to grab a first aid kit from the cabinet where he kept them stocked before depositing Dick on one of the less cluttered worktables. He removed the boy's jacket, careful not to brush it against the cut, and raised an eyebrow when he discovered batarangs stuffed into both pockets. He sighed as he set it to the side with his gauntlets and began to clean the wound.

Like he'd suspected, the cut wasn't very deep; but Bruce found himself scowling darkly. Dick shouldn't have gotten hurt at all. Bruce had seen the look in his eyes before he'd gone after Zucco. He should've known Dick wouldn't just stay behind. If he hadn't ignored the warning signs, if he'd let him come this one time, he could have at least kept him close… kept him safe.

He'd already been running up the stairs when he heard the screams. His heart had almost stopped at the sound. A horrible image of Dick lying broken on the ground in a puddle of blood had flashed through his mind at some point. He'd made it to the roof just as Zucco was pushing Dick over the edge and he had moved so fast he would've probably given the Flash a run for his money.

If he had been just five seconds later…

A small hissing sound pulled him from his thoughts and he looked down. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed how tight he was wrapping the gauze bandage. He grimaced slightly as he readjusted it more comfortably. Dick was still staring into nothingness and Bruce wondered if he had imagined the noise, or if it had been a subconscious reaction. He had just finished applying the strip of medical tape when a silver tray was set on the table to his left.

"While upstairs I received a call from Commissioner Gordon detailing the capture of Tony Zucco by none other than Batman," Alfred said without preamble, "Would you care to explain, Master Bruce?" One of the things Bruce both liked and hated about Alfred was his bluntness. He didn't waste time with unnecessary chitchat, but he didn't give any time to collect oneself either.

Bruce sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night and rubbed a hand over his face. He really wished Alfred would let it slide until after he caught some sleep, but considering he had to leave for the office in less than two hours he knew that wasn't an option. He looked back up and winced at the almost glare the older man was giving him.

He let his arm fall back to his side as Alfred raised a critical eyebrow…

"It was my fault," came quietly from the table, causing Bruce to quickly turn his head in surprise. Dick was no longer staring straight ahead, but had lowered his gaze to the floor. With his head bowed low, hands clasped in his lap, and slumped shoulders he was the picture of depression.

Alfred's expression softened considerably when he noticed Dick's state. It seemed as though he wanted to comfort the boy, but without knowing all of the circumstances he was at a loss for what to say. Dick spoke again before he could try, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry."

Bruce frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. What was he supposed to say? Dick had followed him to the apartment building without his knowledge, against his wishes; and confronted a wanted killer, _alone_, effectively scaring him half to death. It seemed like the sort of thing any parent would scold a child for…

But Dick had sounded truly regretful, and more than a little pitiful. Talking about what he had done wrong would only hurt him more right now.

Bruce knelt and placed one of his hands on top of Dick's. With the other hand he reached up and lifted the boy's trembling chin. Dick's face was pale, his eyebrows scrunched as he tried to keep his emotions in check. But despite his efforts big, fat tears were spilling down his cheeks in a constant stream. His eyes were as bright as Bruce had ever seen them; but they were shining with a pain so great, he felt his heart clench at the sight.

When he didn't say anything right away, a shadow of fear crossed Dick's face. "Bruce?" his voice came out strained, "Are- are you mad at me?" Bruce frowned and started to reassure him, but Dick took the change in his expression the wrong way and his willpower crumbled. He pulled his hands away from Bruce and used them to cover his face as he broke down sobbing.

"No, Dick, shh," Bruce tried to calm him as he attempted to curl in on himself. He gently grabbed his shoulder and ran a hand through the unruly mop of hair. "It's alright. I'm not mad at you. I promise I'm not, okay? I just…" he trailed off when nothing he said seemed to register. He closed his eyes and slightly cursed under his breath.

It hurt seeing Dick so heartbroken, struggling and failing to hold back his tears. He was obviously confused and scared; dealing with nearly being killed and believing he was in serious trouble for what had happened. And Bruce felt like a complete idiot for not knowing how to help him.

It was then that he felt a comforting hand on his own shoulder. A hand that had guided him through so much in his life, even before his parents had left him. A hand that had always been firm, steadfast, and held a certain power even over Batman. Bruce didn't have to look to know that Alfred was giving him an encouraging nod. Supporting him.

"Dick," Bruce spoke more gently then he felt he had in his life, "You aren't in trouble. I won't lie by telling you I'm not upset. But I'm not mad at you. It's my responsibility to make sure you're safe. I promised you that I wouldn't let Zucco hurt you again, and I failed… I'm the one who should be sorry."

Dick glanced up looking uncertain. "B-but you didn't know I was there," his voice was clogged with emotion and guilt; "It was… it was all my fault."

Bruce shook his head and pulled the boy's hands away from his face, "I did know you were there, Dick."

This revelation was enough to slow the tears as Dick's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You… how did you know that?"

Bruce gave him a small smile, "Lights don't turn themselves off, Kiddo," he pointed out. "And my cowl has night vision built in. You did an impressive job," he admitted, "Two guys by yourself?"

Dick shrugged and looked down. "One of them was going to hit you with a chair," he explained, "I didn't want to distract you."

"I wasn't until you ran out of the room," Bruce sighed, "And when I heard you…" He swallowed and brushed the hair from the acrobat's forehead, "You really scared me, Bud."

Dick blinked, "Batman gets scared?"

"Well…" he looked up as though thinking about it, "not until recently."

Dick smiled a bit at that, much to Bruce's relief. "I was scared for you too," he said, a light blush coloring his cheeks. "You were so tired but you were too stubborn to admit it," his tone conveyed his worry and exasperation, "I was afraid you would get hurt without help."

Bruce really had no argument for that. Maybe it had been a dumb move, but he couldn't have taken the chance that Zucco would disappear again. If he never got closure for his parents' deaths, he would at least be satisfied that Dick had.

He felt warmth spread through his chest at the concern the boy had shown for him. It was a different feeling, strange and new. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be a father. To have someone that loved you and trusted you unconditionally with their life.

It was a bit terrifying to think about… but not entirely unpleasant.

"Thank you," he finally said, "I don't know if I could have finished with those guys in time to stop him if you hadn't been there." Normally this comment would've brought a blinding grin; but Dick was still quite shaken from his experience and could only manage a small, but sincere smile. "I just wish you had let me take care of Zucco," he said, feeling it safe now for a reprimand.

"I didn't know it was him," Dick defended a bit weakly; "I thought it was one of the people you were fighting trying to get away. And when I saw it was _him_… I kind of…"

"You lost control of your emotions," Bruce supplied for him.

"Yeah," Dick agreed; then he straightened a bit and frowned, "I did okay to start with though. I probably could've taken him with one or two more kicks to the head… the landing was just too small to stay out of reach I guess."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, "What exactly happened up there?"

Dick rubbed his hands on his leggings and shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh… I knocked him down after he tried to distract me; that's how I got this," he gestured to his bandaged arm, "And then I got him in the head a few times before he grabbed me. Sorry about your glasses," he apologized, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Glasses?" Bruce questioned. He vaguely remembered seeing a pair of sunglasses crushed on the floor while racing upstairs.

"I didn't want him to know who I was," Dick shrugged as though that explained it, "It didn't do much good though. When he…" He stopped to take a shuddering breath and a few tears filled his eyes again, "I thought I was… that I'd fall like… like my parents."

This time the sobs that shook the small frame were not for fear of being scolded. They were for everything that had happened since the night that seemed forever ago. The loss, the funeral, the detention center, the nightmares… the fear that he would suffer the same fate. That the world wouldn't even care or notice.

And for the first time since his own parents had died, Bruce acted first.

He had been given many hugs in times of need throughout his life. Before by his parents; after by Alfred, Lucius Fox, Leslie Thompkins, even the Big Blue Boy Scout despite many threats of bodily harm. And Dick.

But in spite of his attention to detail and near inhuman power of recollection, Bruce could not remember the last time he hugged someone else because_ they_ needed it.

He thought of all of this even as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the trembling boy. But those thoughts fled as soon as he felt the hands desperately clinging to his cape and the small face pressed into his neck.

Alfred squeezed Bruce's shoulder; he'd forgotten the butler was still there for a moment. "Master Bruce," he said gently, "I'll call your office and let them know you will be staying in today. Perhaps you should both get some rest."

Bruce nodded and climbed to his feet, lifting Dick with him. "We'll change and be up shortly, Alfred. Thank you."

Alfred nodded and turned to the elevator with the tray of untouched hot chocolate. Bruce helped Dick into one of his spare t-shirts; it was so big it was practically falling off his shoulders and past his knees. Once Bruce had changed as well, he carried his young charge to the elevator, noticing how his tears had slowed and his eyes had started to droop.

As he walked down the hall towards the boy's room he felt the arms tighten around his neck. "What's wrong, Bud?" he asked concerned.

"Don't leave me?" Dick's voice was soft and pleading, he was already half asleep.

Bruce hesitated outside the door for a second. Then he looked down at the tear-stained cheeks and big blue eyes…

And he carried the brave young acrobat with him to the master bedroom. After all, it was just one night…

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So I know it's been a while, but I was suffering from a major writer's block and I am sooo sorry. After writing a few one-shots (which I've posted in another story) I've worked past quite a bit of it. Not saying that I'm going to be doing the one-a-day posting again, but it won't be as long between updates as before. There's actually only a few chapters left to this story.


	24. Chapter 24: One and Only Friend

Okay, so I'm sure you guys will like this chapter. Introducing… (drum roll until you find out, because I'm not giving spoilers)

Disclaimer: I'd be richer if I owned this.

One and Only Friend

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"Watch it, shrimp."

Dick frowned as a group of boys pushed past him on their way down the hall.

True they were all much taller than him, not to mention older; but did they have to rub it in? He'd been at school for all of four hours and his belief that it would be a fun, new experience was diminishing by the minute.

When his teacher had first introduced him to the class they had been obligated to say 'hi'. But ever since they seemed to be doing everything they could to ignore him. Most of them wouldn't talk to him or even make eye contact.

But he had felt their eyes, staring at him while he was trying to shrink into the background. He'd heard the whispering too; about him being 'Wayne's charity project' and a 'Gypsy circus freak'. He tried not to let on that he had heard, but he found his fists clenching more than once.

What did they know about his life? What gave them the right to talk like they did? Most of their parents had probably never even seen Bruce in person; all they had were the stupid tabloids. And anyway, what was wrong with growing up in a circus? None of these kids could do half of what he could, and nowhere near as good. They thought because they were born into wealth and two or three years older they were something special…

But despite his sporadic mental rants, Dick was sadder than anything else. It simply wasn't in his nature to be hateful. He just wanted to know why.

Why did everyone judge him because of his past? It wasn't like it was his _choice_ to be born to trapeze artists with gypsy blood. No more than he chose Bruce Wayne to be his guardian. He certainly hadn't asked for his parents to die and leave him in Gotham.

But did it really matter?

Even if he had been able to choose his family, he would have picked John and Mary Grayson every time. He was proud of his heritage. And if losing his parents had been… fate; there was no one he would rather have save him than Bruce…

He wished there was just _one _person in this place who could understand that.

Dick sighed as he picked up the binder and loose papers he'd dropped. The teacher had sent them off to art class and told a few of his fellow students to help him find the way. They'd given some nods and 'Yes, Ma'am's, but as soon as they were out in the hall Dick had been shoved aside into the wall. Now that he'd recovered his belongings he realized that they had left him and he had no idea where to go.

Alfred had brought him some time during the summer to enroll and look around, but he didn't remember seeing an art room.

"Great," he muttered to the empty hall. Dick clutched his binder close to his chest and started walking in the direction his class had taken. Maybe he would get lucky and spot it without too much trouble.

He carefully studied every door he passed and listened for anything that might tell him which was the right place. He'd turned down a few hallways already when he found a door standing open. He didn't think anything of it until he got close enough to see it was an exit.

Why would anyone leave an exit door open? Summer had only just ended and it was still pretty yucky out. Hot and slightly humid, yet consistently gray as though it could rain at any moment. Not only was this door defeating the purpose of air conditioning, but there was an actual forecast of rain today. A teacher couldn't have opened the door…

His curiosity piqued, Dick walked over and stuck his head around the doorframe. An eyebrow rose involuntarily when he saw a girl, alone, in what looked like a spare parking lot. The kind of place reserved for parents to keep their cars on field trip days. It was mostly gravel with a few evenly spaced cement stoppers. A fence surrounded the place and the gate was closed.

The girl was balancing on one of the stoppers and walking along the top; one of her hands running almost absentmindedly along the shoulder-high chain link fence.

Dick frowned a little and cautiously walked out to stand a few feet behind her. She kept her eyes glued to her feet.

"Uh, what are you doing?" he asked timidly.

The girl jumped at the sudden voice and had to steady herself with the fence to keep from falling down and skinning a knee. She turned around with an almost mortified expression, which turned to annoyance tinged with relief when she saw who had spoken.

"What's it to you?" she said a little defensively as she hopped down to face him. It was then that Dick got his first good look at her.

She was older than him by at least two years, maybe three, and nearly a head taller. She was fairly skinny and pale but not horribly so. In fact, if she were a little tanner and her hair a softer shade of red… she reminded Dick of his mother. Her eyes were nearly the same color of blue and her face was the same heart shape.

Dick blinked and realized the girl was waiting for his answer. She had crossed her arms and seemed to be sizing him up. He looked down and shrugged a shoulder, "I was just wondering… I thought everyone would be in a classroom."

"You're not," the girl pointed out raising an eyebrow.

Dick blushed and turned his head, embarrassed. "I… I got a bit lost," he admitted. Before the girl could answer an exasperated huff was heard from the doorway. Both kids turned to see a tall, older woman with graying brown hair and rectangular glasses striding over to them. And though she was wearing a long floral skirt and had a pin attached to her blouse that said _A smile is the prettiest thing you can wear! _… it didn't look like she was planning on smiling anytime soon.

"Miss Gordon," she said crossly once she was standing in front of them. Dick noticed that the redheaded girl was trying very hard to look like she wasn't scared.

"Yes, Ms. Nelson?" she did a good job of keeping her voice even.

The teacher looked up and took a breath, "This is the third time today that you have left class without permission and been found wandering around the grounds. Would you care to explain why that is?"

The girl folded her hands in front of her and looked down. "I'm sorry, Ms. Nelson," she apologized, "I had to go to the bathroom. I suppose I should have asked first."

Ms. Nelson raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "You had to go to the bathroom out here?" The girl had no answer for that and her teacher sighed, looking somewhat regretful. "I'm afraid this is the third strike for you. And the first school day hasn't even ended," she said shaking her head, "I'll be calling your father after school."

Dick saw the girl's eyes widen only because of his height and frowned. She looked completely freaked at the idea of her teacher phoning her home. He bit his lip uncertainly and glanced between the teacher and the girl.

Maybe it was because she'd been the first one to even acknowledge him, maybe because she looked so upset… or maybe because she looked so much like his mom. But he wanted to help her.

He opened his mouth before he'd even thought about what he was saying. "It was my fault, Ma'am," he said softly.

Both the teacher and the girl looked at him in surprise and confusion. Ms. Nelson hadn't seemed to notice he was there until he spoke. She frowned and studied him carefully.

"How was this your fault, young man?" she asked skeptically. The girl looked like she wanted to ask that too, but was smart enough to hold her tongue.

Dick took a breath and tried to think up an excuse. "I've never been to school before," he said hesitantly, "I'm supposed to be in art class, but I got lost on the way. I came out here to… I don't know. I just thought being outside would help a little." He gestured to the red-haired girl, "She saw me and came out to warn me that I would get in trouble if I didn't go back in." He saw that the teacher still looked a bit doubtful, but her expression had softened considerably.

"I'm really, really sorry," he apologized sincerely, but more for lying than being outside when he shouldn't.

Ms. Nelson finally caved with a sigh, "Alright, I'll let it go this time." The girl looked as relieved as Dick felt before the older woman lifted a finger in warning, "But the next time I catch you out of class, Miss Gordon, I will have to call your father. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Nelson," the girl smiled and shot Dick a grateful look.

Ms. Nelson seemed much more relaxed now. She looked at her watch and then back at the two. "What class are you in, young man?" she asked Dick kindly.

"Mrs. Price's," he said confused.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise when he said the fifth grade teacher's name, but she didn't comment on it. "Well it looks like you missed your art class," she informed him, "But why don't you and Miss Gordon head to the cafeteria for lunch? I'll go get the rest of my class and let your teacher know they'll find you there, okay?"

Both students agreed and followed her back inside where they watched her walk down the hall without a backward glance.

It was awkwardly silent for a moment before the redheaded girl turned to Dick and jerked her head in the other direction. "Cafeteria's this way," she said walking a few steps in the indicated direction. Dick joined her and she studied him as they went, which was pretty uncomfortable for the former aerialist.

After they were a few hallways from where they'd left Ms. Nelson the girl stopped in front of him and stuck out her hand. "Barbara Gordon," she introduced herself, "Thanks for helping me out back there."

Dick blinked then shrugged, taking the offered hand, "You're… welcome, I guess."

She smiled at the uncertain tone in his voice and tilted her head, "So what do they call you?"

Dick frowned and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what she meant. People seemed to be calling him a lot of things lately. Which one did she want to know?

"I'm sorry?" he asked feeling self-conscious.

Barbara snorted a little and shook her head. "Your name," she clarified, "What's your name, short stuff?"

He frowned in annoyance at the new height-related name. He ignored it though and shifted his binder, "Dick Grayson."

Barbara put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide her snickers and the boy sighed. He'd gotten about the same reaction from everyone he'd told his nickname, but he had no idea why they found it so amusing.

He didn't notice when Barbara stopped giggling and narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait," she said pointing a finger at him, "Grayson… as in Richard Grayson? The orphaned circus performer?"

Dick instantly froze.

He hated that word. 'Orphan'. It always made him feel lonely and unwanted.

He swallowed hard and looked away, "Yeah," he managed to choke out, "Yeah, that's me… the circus freak." And with that he pushed past her and went down the hall as fast as he could without running.

"Hey," he heard Barbara calling after him, but he didn't turn around, "Hey, wait!" She caught up to him fairly quickly with her longer legs and gently grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said looking equal parts apologetic and horrified at what had come out of her mouth. "That was a really, really, really stupid thing to say," she continued as she blocked his path, "I didn't mean it to come out like that, I swear. My dad says my mouth isn't always connected to my brain, and he's totally right. And he said you were a good kid and he even told me to be more considerate of-"

"What?" Dick interrupted her rambling, "Your dad…" He thought about her last name and his eyes lighted with recognition, "Commissioner Gordon?"

She smiled, "Yeah. He told me all about the party that night… he said you were really brave."

"Really?" he asked with a shy smile. He could see in her eyes that she really was regretful for what she'd said. And the Commissioner was nice so… he slowed down and gave her a genuine smile. "Do you… want to sit with me for lunch?" he was a bit hesitant to ask. When he saw her eyes widen in surprise he backtracked, "It's okay if you have other friends and don't want to. I just thought-"

"No," she broke in quickly, "I'd like that. I don't really have any friends here," she confessed, "They're all a bunch of rich snobs."

"Oh," Dick frowned. Bruce was rich too. Did living with him make Dick a snob in Barbara's eyes?

She didn't seem to notice his change in mood as she let go of his arm. "It's actually kind of a relief to know there's at least one other normal person here. I was getting worried that everyone to enter the doors would turn into brainless, refined zombies."

Dick tilted his head and studied her curiously. She thought he was normal? A gypsy acrobat born and raised in the circus?

He felt his smile grow as he followed Barbara down the hall, her going on about cultured zombies saying please and thank you in toneless voices and using silverware to eat the brains of the lower classes. He wasn't completely sure what a zombie was or why they would want to eat brains. But he figured if all the other kids in the school ignored him or called him a 'charity case' every day for the rest of the school year…

Well just one friend would be more than enough to help him get through it.

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Yes! I have to say I'm pretty happy with this chapter. Writing Barbara was fun, I'll have to use her again in the future. Not in this story though. Like I said, this one is almost complete. Hope you guys enjoyed.


	25. Chapter 25: Early Christmas Present

Disclaimer: I wish I could make money off of this, but that would be stealing.

Early Christmas Present

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"Bruce, will you _please_ just think about it?" Dick asked as he leaned over the arm of the computer's chair; his tone a breath away from begging.

Bruce sighed and tried to keep his mind on the analysis he was running on Joker's new gas. He was afraid if he had to look at those big pleading blue eyes one more time he would lose it.

Ever since the night they'd caught Zucco, some two months ago, Dick had become more comfortable around both Bruce and Alfred. It was a relief to see that he was moving on with his life. Adjusting to the loss, smiling, laughing, giving random hugs whenever the urge struck him. Bruce had never been able to do that and he was always amazed by the genuine happiness he found in the boy's eyes.

The only down-side to this new ease was that Dick wasn't afraid to use his 'kicked puppy' look to its full extent. Bruce doubted he did it on purpose, it just wasn't his character, but that didn't make it any easier to say 'no'. And the only thing he had asked for wasn't a decision to be made without serious thought.

Every day since Zucco's arrest Dick had approached him with the same request. He wanted to help the secret vigilante with his 'night work'. Bruce hadn't given him a definite answer, but he had continued training the young acrobat in an attempt to stall or distract him.

It wasn't working very well.

Bruce was beginning to get worried that Dick would get tired of his silence and sneak out to fight crime on his own. He was a good kid and did what he was told for the most part. But he'd gotten into his head that he wanted to help people the same way his guardian did, and it was obvious to the man and his butler that he wouldn't just let this go.

This was the closest the boy had come to outright begging and it was enough to worry Bruce into action.

He took his time finishing the analysis in an attempt to avoid Dick's gaze for as long as possible. Five minutes later when it was finished he exited out of every program, saved and organized his new files alphabetically, and hit a few keys until the screen flashed up a bat symbol before going black.

Bruce finally looked down at Dick, who was still hanging onto his chair tracing his finger along the arm patiently. The billionaire sighed again wishing there was some way around this conversation.

"Dick…" he started only to trail off when sparkling blue eyes looked up expectantly. He pursed his lips and wondered how he could fight psychopaths on a nightly basis, sort out business transactions in a matter of hours… and yet he was nervous about having a conversation with an eight-year-old child.

"Dick," he tried again, "I think it's time that you and I had a talk."

Dick's face fell a little but he tried not to let his disappointment show too much. Bruce's tone hadn't been encouraging. But as the billionaire stood up and held out his hand, Dick obediently took it and allowed himself to be led upstairs to the study.

Bruce sat down on the couch in front of the empty fireplace and gestured to the spot beside him. Dick looked at him nervously after he was comfortable. Bruce just stared at the fireplace for a moment, as though it would help him know what to say.

Finally he got a thoughtful expression on his face and looked down at his young charge. "Dick, why is it so important for you that I let you come with me?"

Dick frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Because you need my help," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Even with his years of experience in keeping a straight face Bruce couldn't hide his surprise at those words. "I… need your help?" he asked as though he hadn't heard right. Dick nodded and Bruce raised an eyebrow, "You know I've been doing this for quite some time by myself. And I'm still right here." He didn't want to add the 'why do I need you' his statement implied. It didn't seem appropriate and he didn't want to hurt the boy's feelings.

"I know," Dick said, "But that doesn't mean you don't need help." Bruce started to say something but Dick wanted to explain his reasoning fully before being told his assistance wasn't necessary.

"I already told you, Bruce," Dick reminded him, "Sometimes the people you save need help that Batman _can't _give without ruining his image. I could help with that. Mom always said I was good at making her smile when she was scared or sad." He looked down, remembering the small smile she'd given him when she told him that. The way she'd ran her fingers through his hair and gently kissed his forehead even as she was wiping away tears after his father had been injured.

"Besides," Dick continued after a moment, "even Batman has his limits. You almost missed Zucco because you were busy fighting his men and you were too tired to finish them quicker. I'm getting better at combat. I could take down some of the easier ones so you could focus on the major bad guys."

Bruce tried to find something wrong with his logic, but it was pretty sound. He honestly expected nothing less but…

He was _eight_.

What kind of guardian would he be if he willingly let a kid, not even in the double digits, go out at night to fight crime in arguably the most crime-ridden city in the world? Or at least the United States.

He was trying to find a way to explain his feelings on the matter as gently as possible when he met Dick's gaze. It was the same look he'd had when he asked Bruce to train him. Hopeful, pleading, determined… and completely unwavering. Bruce sighed and gave the only answer he could.

"I'll think about it."

Dick's whole expression lit up and it looked like a delighted cry was mere seconds from escaping his throat. But before he could attack his guardian with a hug and bounce around the study like a kangaroo on steroids, Alfred knocked on the open door.

"Master Richard," he said as both heads swiveled to look at him, "I have just received a package bearing your name." The butler entered the room and handed his younger charge a brown cardboard box with no return address.

It wasn't large, about the size of the breadbox in the kitchen downstairs. Dick studied it curiously and tilted his head. The only people he knew that might have sent it were…

His eyes widened and he quickly, but carefully tore through the tape that sealed it shut. The first thing he saw when he opened it up was a carefully folded piece of paper. He picked it up and a small photo fell out into his hand. A small smile bloomed on his face when he got a good look at it.

It was a picture of his circus family. Every last one of them, including the animals, lined up with warm smiles on their faces. The note that came with it had been written by Pop Haley and signed by everyone else. It wasn't very long for the need to fit all the names. But it made his smile brighten when Pop told how much Zitka and the crew missed having him around.

_It just isn't the same without our bright-eyed little bird_, it read.

Pop also mentioned that the box was his early Christmas gift from his 'extended family'. And that in true circus fashion nothing in it was new.

Dick felt his breath catch in his throat as he set the note aside and dug through the box, wondering what they could have sent. Hoping that maybe...

He felt tears sting his eyes when he saw his parents' things; the things he had wanted so badly, but hadn't been able to take with him when he left. There was his mother's mirror and brush passed down from her grandmother's grandmother. His father's red and yellow scarf that Dick had made for him with Mary's help. The old, Russian music box that had been a wedding gift from the lion tamer, they'd always played it to help Dick fall asleep. The crystal bird that had sat in their tiny window for as long as he could remember.

And underneath it all, Dick saw a silky red ribbon peeking out. This he had never seen before. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he tried to remember if it had been tied around something in their trailer. Or maybe it had belonged to someone else in the crew.

But what was the purpose of sending him a ribbon?

Unless it was some kind of reminder to never forget them. Didn't people tie ribbons around their fingers when they wanted to remember something important?

He frowned when he noticed the small knot that bound the ends together in a circle. Was there something attached to it? Like a charm or pendant?

He carefully slipped a finger through the loop it formed and dislodged it from where it lay trapped beneath the mirror.

He swallowed hard when he saw what it held, far more precious than any carving or gem, and he felt a few grateful tears escape his eyes. Bruce wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled the young acrobat close.

Dick gently closed his hand around his mother and father's wedding rings and held them close to his heart. He couldn't really explain the sense of warmth, of calmness, having these things brought to him. But as he leaned his head against his guardian's chest, he realized this was the first time he had cried for his parents without feeling grief. They were tears of contentment for the memory of them.

This was the first time he could honestly think to himself, _I'm going to be okay_.

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(sniffle) I hope no one choked on the fluff… And yes I know it was kind of short. But the next one will be longer, I promise.


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